


Lethal Weapon

by VictoriaPyrrhi



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 96,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaPyrrhi/pseuds/VictoriaPyrrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maka is a detective on a mission and nothing, not even an unexpected partner, is going to get in her way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cinderella Undercover

Chapter 1: Undercover Maka

* * *

 

 

The constant undercurrent of noise in the bullpen drops away, and she notes it distantly, but these reports aren’t going to write themselves, and she has yet to learn the secret of foisting paperwork off without feeling incredibly guilty. When her ears don’t pick up the office chatter resuming, she glances up to see the Captain leaning on the door frame of his office, arms crossed. All eyes are on her, and Maka fights the urge to redden as her chair scrapes away from her desk. She holds her head high and ignores the chatter that’s started back up, most of it directed at her.

 

“What’dya blow up this time?”

 

“Ice cream truck down, ice cream truck down!” Eloquently, Maka flips the bullpen the finger before she disappears into the Captain’s office, shutting the door behind her.

 

Captain Death the Kid is already seated; as usual, he’s impeccably groomed and infuriatingly composed. He motions casually, gold eyes fixed on the pile of papers in front of him.

 

“Sit.” It isn’t a request, and Maka self-consciously brushes at the wrinkles in her button-down that she can’t ever seem to really get rid of, no matter how much time she spends with an iron. She’s pretty sure that she knows what this little meeting is going to be about, and she’s hoping her captain hasn’t notice the coffee stain she’d missed on her slacks. He might be one of the youngest police captains in the history of the Death City PD, and his father might be the mayor, but Maka knows from experience that Kid’s position had nothing to do with nepotism and everything to do with the fact that he could be one scary motherfucker. He’s glaring at her over the papers now, and Maka straightens her spine.

 

“You know why I’ve called you here, yes?” Her brain skitters over a multitude of sins and appropriately noncommittal responses in a matter of seconds before her brain says, _keep it simple, stupid_ , and her mouth says,

 

“Captain, I have _no_ idea—“ The innocent look and puzzled smile doesn’t fool Kid for one minute. She cuts herself short at his unimpressed raised eyebrow. He sighs and takes a moment to wipe his glasses clean before pulling a thick file out of the stack decorating his desk top.

 

“Let’s see. I have here three separate instances of severe property damage, four,” he looked up. “ _Four_ weapon discharged incidents, two accusations of illegal search and seizures, oh yes. And one _stolen car_.”

 

“I didn’t _steal_ it, I commandeered it,” Maka mutters, looking anywhere but at her supervisor.

 

“ _Albarn_.” He sighs, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Maka. Look. We can’t keep having these kinds of blemishes on our precinct’s record. You’re out of control.”

 

“But Captain! Every one of those incidents was completely necessary. My _life_ was in danger; my _team’s_ lives were at stake!”

 

“Illegal. Search. And. Seizure.”

 

“Absolutely necessary! We were running out of time—you know as well as I do that the Ripper was going to kill again! If we hadn’t busted into the storage unit on a hunch—“

 

“It is still unacceptable.” The chair is long forgotten, and Maka slams her hands down on the captain’s desk.

 

“I am _doing_ my _job_! I keep people safe, and I put _murderers_ away, Kid. I do what it takes, and if doing my job is wrong, I don’t want to be _right_.” She’s fuming, chest heaving, eyes flashing. Kid remains largely passive in the wake of her outburst. After a moment, he sighs again and motions to the chair. Maka’s chin is set, and she folds her arms.

 

“I have an assignment for you,” he says abruptly.

 

“You can’t do this to m--wait, _what_?” She can’t be sure, but she thinks that Kid cracks a small smile at her confusion.

 

“I have an assignment for you. You aren’t going to like it, but we need the best, and despite your record for ah...collateral damage, you do, as you so eloquently put, ‘get results’.” Mouth still hanging wide open, Maka plops into her chair. “You’ll be going undercover at Chupa Cabra’s. Thanks to my sources, we’ve been able to isolate Chupa Cabra’s as one of the primary establishments that Medusa Gorgon owns and likes to use as her personal playground.” Maka’s jaw shuts with an audible click, her spine straightening and eyes sharp.

 

She knows that name, knows it because it’s burned onto the backs of her eyelids. Homicide’s been after the woman for _years_ now. _Maka’s_ been after her for years now, ever since Gorgon had been linked to the death of a young pair of beat cops. She’d been hauled in and taken to trial, but the best lawyers money and the power of the Arachnophobia organization could buy meant Medusa Gorgon had walked out of that courtroom a free woman. She’s never forgotten that arrogant bitch, or the feeling of complete failure.

 

Kid waits patiently for her response, watching the synapses of his finest detective fire rapidly. Slowly, she nods, a grin beginning to spread across her lips.

 

“Your job is keeping your eyes and ears peeled while you’re at Chupa Cabra’s. We want anything that we can use to take this bitch down, but we need it by the book.” Maka is a little taken aback by the vitriol in her captain’s voice, but she nods again.

 

“You’ve got it. I _get_ results, Captain. You know it.” He smiles faintly.

 

“That’s what we’re counting on, Albarn. The file with the rest of your assignment parameters is in your box.” Maka’s hand is on the doorknob, turning, when she stops and looks back over her shoulders.

 

“Why _now_ , Kid?” His gaze is frank over his glasses’ rims.

 

“We never gave up, Maka. No matter what you think, we never gave up. Gorgon’s got connections though, so we’ve had to be extra careful. My sources seem to think that now’s a good time, and we can get the break that we need. It’s as simple as that.” While the sentiment may have been just so simple, between the sources and the red tape involved in any lengthy or undercover operation, Maka has some measure of the complexity involved, and she gives her Captain a smile. She’ll trust him, trust his sources. Medusa Gorgon would not get away this time.

 

Maka thinks she could probably press for some more information, but Kid’s all ready gone back to shuffling his paperwork, and if she’s being honest with herself, Maka doesn’t really care for the whys of this particular case so much as she cares that she’s got another shot at the bitch. With a happy hum and a spring in her step, Maka grabs the folder containing her new life, checks that her guns are snug against her ribs, and grabs her blazer. She’s got a job to do.

* * *

 

 

Tsubaki tries desperately not to stare at the bags that litter her apartment floor, but they’re _right there_ , and very hard to ignore, all bright pink plastic and names like “Death’s Secret” and “Lacy Things.” Her eyebrows feel like they’re permanently glued to her hairline. She’s lived with Maka for years now, has come home to a coffee table covered in gun parts and leather oil, to an exploded dishwasher, to crime scene photos strung along the curtains and every available surface, but this was a new one. Maka is many things, Tsubaki has learned, and with that comes a certain level unpredictability.

 

“Ah! Tsubaki!” Maka’s standing in the doorway of her room, looking a little red and a lot guilty. Tsubaki picks up one of pink bags and removes a flimsy piece of red _something_. Her eyebrows arch a little further up as Maka squeaks and rushes forward to grab the bag out of her roommate’s hand, face scarlet now.

 

“This is not what it looks like, I swear--” Maka shoves the frilly thing back into it’s pink prison, babbling now. “Well, I mean, it sort of _is_ what it looks like, but it’s really not, I swear that I haven’t turned into some kind of loose harlot woman I just have this job that I have to--” she stalls out at the grin spreading slowly across Tsubaki’s face.

 

“I am just making this worse, aren’t I?” Tsubaki laughs softly.

 

“Yes, yes you are. I’m assuming all this,” she gestures delicately, “is for a new assignment?” Maka nods, face still several shades redder than is strictly healthy.

 

“Undercover work,” she confirms, and Tsubaki makes a strangled little choking noise that sounds a lot like,

 

“ _Really_?”

 

“Tsubaki!” Her roommate laughs again, moving into the kitchen.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Spaghetti?” Maka nods again, starting to gather up her various purchases. The clank of Tsubaki moving pots around is familiar and soothing, and Maka begins to relax. She’s got a reputation as a cop that takes no shit--a hard ass and a good detective, even if one that has a tendency to get into explosive scrapes. She’s no stranger to undercover work, either, but when it boils down to it, she’d rather take a crack at a perp head on than skulking around. She tucks her purchases away into her room with a slight scowl, and goes to help Tsubaki make dinner.

 

They’re finishing up a bottle of wine and an action movie with a truly indecent number of explosions and men with rippling biceps and an abnormal fondness for tank tops when Tsubaki pounces. She pours Maka another glass and waits until her roommate has her eyes riveted on the screen, and the glass up to her lips before asking innocently,

 

“So what’s the assignment?” Maka shoots her a sideways glare as if to say, _I see what you are doing there_ , but takes a sip of her wine anyway. In the background, a car rolls over and explodes for no particular reason.

 

“They think they’ve got a good lead on Medusa.” It’s not what Tsubaki expects, and she straightens. “She’s got an _establishment_ that she uses for covert business deals, entertaining clients and lackeys...real standard sleazeball fair.”

 

“And Kid wants you to go undercover at this place?” Maka’s face reddens again, and gulps the last of her wine, nodding.

 

Tsubaki cocks her head to the side even as she pours the last of the bottle. “And...?” she asks, though her mind has already put together the pink bags and saucy garments together.

 

“And it’s _Chupamuphramah_...” Maka’s voice mumbles.

 

“Chupa Cabra’s?!” Tsubaki is struggling not to laugh at her friend, who is looking more and more distressed by the moment. “Oh, Maka. It will be fine. I’m sure they’ve set up a job as a bartender or one of the hostesses.” Maka looked vaguely less grim. On the TV two muscle men attempted to out-burly each other during a sweet guitar riff.

 

“You think so? Kid was...distressingly vague about the whole thing.” Tsubaki patted her soothingly on the back.

 

“I’m sure that it will be fine. Besides, it’s much easier to gather information wandering around patrons than stuck on a stage, isn’t it?” Maka nods cautiously, then grins unexpectedly at her friend.

 

“Besides...I’m all bones!” She pokes at her hip. “No one wants a boney, flat-chested stripper, right?”

* * *

 

 

Everyone in Death City has at least some idea of where Chupa Cabra’s is. It’s been a fixture of the city since as long as Maka can remember at least, and she still can recall the look on her mother’s face as she made the drive to go haul her good for nothing papa out of the cat house. It changed ownership a few years ago, and according the file Kid gave her, that’s when Medusa started taking over.

 

In the daylight, without the bouncer and the neon lights, or the pounding bass leaking through the doors, Chupa Cabra’s was just another seedy little building in an aging part of town. Tamping down on her nerves, Maka straightens her spine and throws an extra sway into her walk. The heels still feel unnatural, but Tsubaki had spent the past two nights teaching her how to _not_ fall on her face with regularity. Strictly speaking, Maka doesn’t mind doing undercover work. She’s had several assignments before where she needed to be someone else, but never one this big, or this...open ended. Maka won’t ever admit is, but she’s nervous and a little scared. This is _important_ , and the longer an assignment like this goes on, the more chance there is for something to fuck up.

 

She pops a piece of chewing gum into her mouth and squares her shoulders. She’ll be damned if she’s the one who messes up this operation. She spies the side door, slightly rusted and forlorn, and girds her trench coat. It’s now or never, and she’s knocking on the door, short and sharp and _loud_ in the alleyway. She’s about to knock again when the door swings open and Maka finds herself face to face with a towering man. That, she thinks, is a truly obscene amount of muscle.

 

“Can I help you?” And though it’s polite, it’s still a growl. Maka tries not to flinch at the glass eye that rolls her way. She steels herself mentally, puts on her brightest, most vapid smile, and cocks one hip out.

 

“Hi! My name’s Honey and I’m here about the job?” The man smiles, wide and open and suddenly friendly, and Maka is astonished by the change.

 

“Oh! Excellent! Miss Blair’s been expecting you; please come in!” She’s ushered inside, and the first thing that she notices is that the interior is nothing like the outside. Instead, it’s all plush reds and violets, polished marble floors and far classier than it has any right to be. The overgrown bouncer leads her through a few different hallways, each of equal opulence that Maka notes in her brain with interest. It’s almost serpentine in complexity, but she’s got a good head for theses kinds of things, and thinks that she can make her way back here again if she needs to. They arrive suddenly at a large, heavy wooden door, and the bouncer knocks loudly.

 

“Come in~” a voice singsongs through the door. The man bounces a little on the balls of his feet and grins down at her again before pushing open the door.

 

Maka isn’t really sure what she expected, but she’s pretty sure that it isn’t anything like the reality of “Miss Blair” or her office.

 

“Oh! Free~” Blair practically croons at the bouncer, batting long lashes. “You brought me the new girl yourself? That’s so sweet of you! Thank you, pumpkin!” She curls one well-manicured hand under his chin and presses close. Maka doesn’t know if a man with a glass eye can roll both of his eyes into the back of his head, but Free certainly is trying. She also swears that the man is seconds away from drooling all over himself. She taps the finger under his chin gently. “Now be a dear, won’t you, Free? Us girls have business to attend to! Scoot, scoot.”

 

Free’s already out, door shut firmly behind him before he or Maka notices what’s happening.

 

“Well then,” Blair turns and wastes no time circling Maka like an over-endowed shark. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Before she knows what’s going on, Blair is poking and prodding her categorically. Maka takes a finger to the stomach, the chin, the ass, and finally one in the tits before she recovers and snaps, swatting at the woman.

 

“ _Stop_ that!” There is a tense pause, and for a moment, Maka is horrified that she might have just lost the job before she even secured it. But the moment passes, and Blair laughs a little, smirking.

 

“Oh, you are _feisty_! I like that! Kind of scrawny, though, aren’t you, girlie?” Her finger darts out and stabs Maka in the hip before she can dodge. “Not gonna lie; most of our customers prefer girls with a little more in the ways of,” she grabs her chest for emphasis, “ _assets_.” Maka feels her face heat up, and hopes in vain that the dimness of the room covers up her blush. She doesn’t like the calculating look on her new boss’s face, and likes even less the insult to her physique. She straightens her spine and gives Blair what she hopes is a good, haughty stare.

 

“I may not be _stacked_ ,” she all but spits out the word, “but I am _fit_.” She extends a leg, made longer in strappy heels she’d borrowed from her roommate. “I’ve got mile long legs and, as you might have noticed from _poking it_ , an ass that’s _to die for_.” She’s hoping that Blair will be more amused than put off by her boldness, and as the woman moves to her desk to make a few notes, she holds her breath and tries to remain defiant and cocky. When Blair looks up, she’s got a grin spread across her pretty face.

 

“You already came highly recommended by the Thompson sisters, so that’s a point in your favor. And I like your style. I think you’re going to do just fine here.” Maka feels relieved, even as she remains wary of the calculating look in Blair’s eyes. “Oh yes. I think that we have just the niche for you here.” She waves a hand negligibly at Maka’s coat. “While we’re on the subject, let’s see what you’ve got, Kitten.”

 

“It’s Honey.”

 

“Of course, Kitten.” Stifling her glare, Maka turns her back and drops the coat and her thin dress unceremoniously.

 

Maka’s spent a good portion of her life feeling like a grade-a prude, and with a proportionate measure of shame for her body. Years of martial arts training, the police academy, and sharing space with a bunch of sweaty, crude cops has mostly gotten rid of her embarrassment. Mostly. The black fishnet thigh highs go well with the bustier/thong/garter belt combo that Tsubaki had assured her was the perfect outfit for “exotic dancing.” It’s too expensive for her to feel cheap and skanky in. They’re high-end, _she’s_ high-end, and this, she thinks, is just a job, just like any other. If there is one thing that Maka Albarn excels at, it’s her job.

 

Unconsciously, she squares her shoulders, absorbing the essence of Honey, exotic dancer and barmaid. She gives Blair a coy smile and a little shimmy, then bends slowly at the hips, running her hands down her thighs, then back up. Her hands linger at the top of one leg, teasing around the garter, before unsnapping the clip, and beginning to roll the hosiery down. In a neat acrobatic trick, Maka brings her leg up as she rolls the thigh high down, propping it daintily on Blair’s desk.

 

She flings the stocking out, and it lands on Blair’s lap. The other one joins it not long after, and she places one foot in front of the other, hips twitching as she struts across the room, pulling confidence from the lessons Tsubaki had given her. She ends her little audition to Blair’s applause and smirking face.

 

“I like your flair. I think you’re going to like it here, Kitten. I even like the look, buuuut I think we can fit you into something a little more suited to _table service_.” Maybe it’s just the fact that everything Blair says sounds like thinly veiled innuendo, but Maka doesn’t like the expression on her new boss’s face _one bit_.

* * *

 

 

Nearly an hour later, Maka finds herself several outfits heavier, and in front of a surprisingly nice locker labeled “Kitten <3~.” Maka frowns, but no matter how much trouble she’d gone through to pick out a suitable name for her alter ego, it didn’t seem like her new boss was having any of it. She had also spent a lot of time and money picking out...work clothes. If she had known that Blair would decide to dress her, she wouldn’t have bothered. She glares half-heartedly at the pile of micro plaid skirts and flimsy white button downs. It figures that she’d be regulated to a slutty version of her old school uniform.

 

While she’s engaged in pouting at her locker, there’s a faint laugh from behind her. Maka whips around, more startled than she wants to admit. She could kick herself for being so lax in her scan of the room when she’d come in. She must have been really out of it to have missed the stunning blond.

 

“Did Blair ‘rename’ you, too?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. Maka relaxes her shoulders and forces a grin.

 

“How’d you know?” The blond smiles, and it’s open and genuine in a way that Maka doesn’t anticipate.

 

“You get to see that look around here a lot. Knowing Blair, she’ll probably try and rename you two or three more times before it’s all said and done.” She squints a little. “Kitten, huh?” she grins.

 

Maka shrugs and laughs a little. “Yeah, I keep telling her my name is Honey, but she won’t have anything to do with it.” The woman’s smile expands and she jabs a well manicured finger up at the lettering on her dressing table’s mirror. In disgustingly girly script, it reads, “Bambi!~” Maka can almost hear Blair’s soprano trilling it out.

 

“You can call me Liz, though.”

 

“Liz Thompson?” The name rings a bell for Maka, and she recalls Blair mentioning the Thompson sisters, flashes back to the dossier on her coffee table and pinpoints it. This... _this_ is Kid’s source? Maka is equal parts impressed and insanely curious. Liz looks more tense than a last name should warrant, and belatedly, Maka recalls the pass phrase. “Of the Baltimore Thompsons?”

 

It takes an act of God for her to refrain from rolling her eyes back into her head when she says it. Liz has no such compunctions. Her pupils are somewhere in the vicinity of no man’s land when she replies, “Actually, we’re from the New York Thompsons.”

 

“Ah-ha,” Maka mumbles. “My mistake.” When Liz finishes rolling her eyes, they exchange a look of _What the fuck was Kid thinking_?

 

“It’s nothing. We get that a lot. You get all your stuff stored?”

 

“Ah, yeah. Fortunately, I don’t have that much.” Liz grins at her.

 

“Treasure it. Just wait till you move up to one of these babies.” She pats the vanity. “Costumes _everywhere_. I swear to god I’m going to have to choke a bitch before every show because something or another goes missing. The lockers at least have locks.” Liz gets up, and Maka tries very hard to not be jealous of the blond’s ridiculous curves. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour. Normally, I’m not here this early, but since I recommended you, Blair wanted me to break you in.”

 

“Break me in?”

 

“Her words, not mine,” she calls over her shoulder. “Come on...Kitten. Let’s get you suited up and I’ll show you the ropes.”

* * *

 

 

She stumbles in the door as the sky begins to lighten. Maka is no stranger to all nighters and bizarre cop hours, but she hadn’t anticipated the fourteen hour day, and she sure as _fuck_ hadn’t anticipated it all being in heels. The tour with Liz turned into observing the first shift of evening, which turned into practicing drink running during the mid-shift, and assisting in the late shift closing duties. She flings the heels Tsubaki lent her towards the living room. They’d come off as soon as she was in her car. She eyeballs her bedroom door, but knows that if she goes in there, she’s going to fall to the siren lure of her bed, so she makes her way to the kitchen instead and starts a pot of coffee, then starts the process of running through her mental catalogue of the afternoon and evening’s events, and transferring it to her casebooks.

 

The days begin to blur together pretty quick. Maka feels awkward knowing that all of her other cases have been either put on hold, or transferred to other detectives. It makes her itch, and she can’t really pinpoint why. She feels ridiculously lazy getting up near noon, but the idea of getting up any earlier makes her eyes want to bleed. To her credit, the first day or so she tried, but getting in at four in the morning and getting back up again at eight could firmly be placed in the "bad idea" category.

 

She's quick, has always been, and it doesn't take more than a few days for her to get into the swing of things. Drink orders roll off her tongue like they've always been there, and she's already located all the regulars. When she gets home in the wee hours of the morning, she kicks off her shoes, eats the dinner that Tsubaki's laid out in the oven for her, and then cracks open the notebook she keeps on the coffee table. Slowly but surely it begins to fill with descriptions and details. She writes names when she can get them, nicknames when she can't, habits and snippets of any conversations that stuck out at her.

 

She's well into week two and she's starting to despair of finding anyone of note when she catches sight of a face that she's seen staring at her from her Most Wanted files. Her heart quickens and she keeps a sharp eye on the man's table, watches as Candy brings out his drinks, watches his sharp face getting more relaxed, his sneer turn more into a leer. The next time Candy saunters out, Maka stops the bubbly red head.

 

"You mind if I take him this round?" Candy smirks and gives her a conspiratorial wink.

 

"Sure thing, Kitten. Careful, he's a rough one!" Maka titters in response, but she's read the file. Giriko is one nasty piece of work, but he's the best lead she has come across yet. An extra swing in her step, she sets his drink down on the table, and smiles flirtatiously.

 

"Jack and Coke, right?" Giriko glances up and she has to repress the shudder she feels as his eyes rake over her. Her smile stays in place through sheer force of will.

 

“Hey there, sweet thing. You new around here?”

 

Maka manages a giggle despite the fact that his hand has attached itself to the back of her knee. “You bet!” She twirls a pigtail around her finger. “Is there anything else I can get you, Mister?” He eyes her again, fingers sliding up the back of her thigh. Even without looking directly at him, she can feel his oily gaze land on her chest.

 

“You’re pretty fuckin’ cute, sweet thing.” He takes a long sip of his drink, and she holds her breath. “I don’t fuck little girls, though. Why don’t you go tell Cherry I’ll meet her in the usual room in ten?” Maka manages to keep her rage tamped down to a mild pout and she grinds out,

 

“Of course,” before stalking off.

 

“Hey cutie! Call me when you grow a decent pair of tits,” his voice follows her across the room noisy as it is, and her fingers positively _itch_ for a gun she’s not carrying. At the same time, she can’t help but smile. After all, he’s just given her the opportunity that she needs to do a little more snooping.

 

She slips backstage and delivers the message to Cherry, a petite brunette who shudders at the summons, but nods, nevertheless. Maka pats the woman on the shoulder delicately.

 

“You want me to go ahead and clear the room for you?” It’s about a quarter til, and she’s trying not to eye the clock in the dressing room nervously. If she can just get in there--Cherry nods, and Maka’s off, stalking down the low-lit hall, the clicking of her heels muffled in the plush carpeting. It’s the work of a minute to find the right door.

 

She knocks once, briskly, then pushes it open. It’s dark and surprisingly clean...doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here yet this evening. She flicks on the overhead, and has to give credit to whoever wired the joint. Soft track lighting, more plush seating and a mini bar made for a pretty comprehensive champagne room. Fortunately for her, it also made for several excellent places to hide bugs. She kicks off her heels and clambers onto the top of the mini bar. With the added assistance of her tip-toes, she’s just able to reach a piece of the track lighting.

 

With practiced ease, she slips a small audio visual bug out of one bra cup and fixed it to the rail. Once on the ground, she double checks the placement. As far as she can tell, there’s no place where Giriko will be sitting where he’d be able to detect the damn thing. She gives the room another quick once over before leaving the lights on and exiting. She eyeballs the other two private party rooms and then the hallway again before rapping on the next door. She has more bugs left to plant, and there really is no time like the present. Her sharp ears catch the sound of rings sliding along a metal pole, the rustle of the heavy curtain that separates off the staff’s section of the nightclub, and her heart leaps into her throat. It’ll be hard to play off that she’d just gone to the wrong room...Maka twists the doorknob and slides into the other room, deftly closing the door as soundlessly as possible. She breathes a sigh of relief about the same time she realizes that the dimmed lights are on, and a rough voice from behind her growls,

 

“It’s about time you got here.”

 


	2. Everyday I'm Hustlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was Soul.

Chapter 2: Everyday I'm Hustlin'

* * *

 

Soul watches the young woman's spine stiffen. She's not what he anticipated. Blair's girls tend toward the busty and voluptuous, but this girl is lithe and athletic. She's also got mile-long legs and a pert ass that he's  _really_ having a hard dragging his eyes away from, but he reminds himself that he's not here for pleasure, and he's got other things to focus on.

 

The girl turns slowly, stiffly, and he's confronted with the biggest pair of green eyes he's ever seen, and a brief flash of something before she smiles slyly.

 

"Hey there, handsome." There's a nervousness in her eyes, but it's not the first time that he's seen that particular look, and Soul's pretty positive that this is Blair's newest girl. His mouth pulls into a slow smile; he wants reassuring, not intimidating this time.

 

"Hey there, sweetheart. I don't think I've seen you around here before." She smiles faintly and shakes her head, pigtails bouncing merrily.

 

"Mm. You wouldn't've, I'm new~" She saunters over to where he's seated, and he doesn't even bother to hide his smirk or the fact that he's staring at her hips. He spreads his knees, and she sits delicately on one thigh, legs crossed.

 

"Thought so. I would have remembered a face like yours." His hand is warm on the small of her back. "What's your name?" It's been nearly a year since Chupa Cabra's had any new blood, and he's planning out just how this is going to go down when there's a rap on the door, and she slides off his lap.

 

"Oopsie. Looks like I got the wrong room. Maybe Ginger can help you with that little problem, handsome," she grins, opening the door. "He's all yours," she says, slipping out of the room. Soul blinks, and she's gone, replaced by Ginger, the dancer he'd been expecting originally. He wants to frown at the bemused expression on her face, but Ginger's already there, red red lips and seductive hips, and he's still got a job to do.

 

"Sorry about that, sugar," she whispers, leaning forward in a way to show off her generous assets. "Just a little mix up, but don't worry, I'll take  _good_ care of you." He smiles again.

 

"I know you will. C'mere and tell the bad man how you're going to make it all better."

* * *

 

The fact that he hadn't even managed to get her name was  _still_ bothering him. By the time he'd finished with Ginger, she'd long since disappeared into the pulsing music and low lights of the club, and he had other business to take care of. He had at least managed to pry it out of Ginger that the new hire hadn't been there terribly long, but the dancer was pretty tight-lipped on that subject, and Soul can't help but be bothered by the whole ordeal.

 

Soul stares balefully at the little hot plate on what passes for a kitchen counter, glances at the mini fridge and tries to recall if there's anything in there that hasn't potentially gained sentience. Nothing immediately springs to mind, so he flops onto the futon and dials the local Vietnamese joint by memory.

 

He wakes up to the sound of pounding on his door, and he rolls off the futon, gun in hand and safety off before his brain catches up and he realizes that it's probably just his take out. Still, better safe than sorry, and he creeps silently up to the door and eyeballs the peephole.

 

It's his usual delivery guy, and Soul takes a second to conceal his weapon before undoing the three deadbolts. He hands over a twenty for the bag of food, exchanges meaningless pleasantries with the bringer of pho, then locks himself back in. Soul knows what the problem is, and while it may be related to the leggy blond in the naughty school girl outfit, it's not really her fault.

 

He's stuck. He feels like he's at a complete standstill, and nothing is getting him any further in his investigations. Soul's already walking a fine fucking line between being an agent and infiltrating the mob. He's deep undercover and feels like he's losing his mind the deeper he goes and the more shit he sees. When it boils down to it, though, he's still stuck. There's not much further he can advance without drawing a lot of undue suspicion and heat down on his head. At the same time, his superior is pressing him for more. Arachnophobia is already a huge organization, and HQ is convinced that now's the time to take them down. It's been made abundantly clear that he's the key to doing so.

 

It's a lot of pressure, but this isn't his first case. Soul sighs, cracking open Styrofoam container and inhaling the smell of pho. He flicks on the TV, cracks open a beer and gets to work.

* * *

 

" _Yo_ , Eater. What's the hold up? Your god is waiting, asshole!" The call is accompanied by a tinny, obnoxious rendition of  _Mars, Bringer of War_ as rendered by Black*Star's custom horn.

 

It's Tuesday and they're due to make the rounds. It took months for Soul to be included on these little excursions, and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, if it weren't for meeting Black*Star, he might not have gotten so far so fast. But the rambunctious mobster had taken a shine to Soul almost immediately.

 

"You're cool," he'd stated. "I like your style. An upcoming star like me can use guys like you." Soul had raised one white eyebrow, but grinned nonetheless. If this kid wanted to offer him a way into his goal, then who was Soul to stop him? He didn't count on Black*Star being so incredibly vain and abrasive, and had counted even less on getting along with the little shit.

 

Soul throws open the tiny window long enough to shout back,

 

"Hold the fuck on!" He slams it shut and throws on his coat. Black*Star won't be quiet for long, and he really doesn't want his landlady riding his ass again about the noise level. He clatters down the stairs and slows long enough to exit his building at a normal human rate. His friend grins at him, one elbow draped out the window of his eye-searing Escalade.

 

"Took you long enough. We got shit to do, man." Soul shrugs and wishes for the hundredth time that Black*Star would let him drive for once. Anything to avoid the electric blue monstrosity.

 

"Keep your pants on. I'm here now, yeah?" He climbs into the monstrous car, and longs in vain for his motorcycle. Really, he would settle for anything that wasn't this flashy piece of crap, but he doesn't really have a suitable alternative, and Soul's pretty sure that Black*Star wouldn't settle for riding in anything not his  _baby_ , much less for riding bitch on the back of a bike. Soul settles his sunglasses down on his nose and tugs down his driving cap.

 

Making the rounds isn't his favorite job. It's a struggle not to flinch at every pair of terrified eyes and every defeated, hunched back as they collect that week's tithe. But he's a professional, and as much as picking up the protection collection skeeves him, there are much worse jobs that he's had to do to worm his way this far into Arachnophobia. He can't do anything now, but down the line...Soul keeps track of who pays, who doesn't, and how much, and one day, he'll fix it, or he'll find someone who can fix the damage they're doing.

 

Tuesdays they take care of the Green District. It's an easy take. The shopkeepers are understandably resentful, but generally they pay up without fuss. Soul recalls that not long ago this hadn't been so easy, recalls the local cops talking about a series of fires (probably arson, but unproven) and a rash of break-ins. When he'd first been given this assignment, the higher-ups had an inkling of the depth of this particular organization, but even a few months in, Soul had quickly been disabused of the notion that Arachnophobia was anything but a colossal network. Together, he and Black*Star take care of the Green, White, Blue, and Red districts. When it comes down to it, they don't actually have that much area to cover over all, and Soul knows there are at least twenty other sections in the city and the district bosses are always keen to have their mob fingers in as many pies as possible. They're all on standing orders to scope out new businesses and to keep eyes on the profitability of their current charges. If there's one crucial detail he's learned, it's that Arachnophobia is much more ambitious than the other mafia syndicates that Soul's had experience with, and in his opinion, that makes them infinitely more dangerous.

 

It's dark by the time he and Black*Star finish. Soul's got a set of bloody knuckles that he's trying desperately to not think about. When he does, all he can see is the defiant face of one Kilik Rung, and the way that he stood boldly in front of his aging mother, the bright splatter of blood on the convenience store floor, the sharp scream. He knows it's a scene that's going to haunt him later that night, wonders if that means he's going soft, or if maybe, just maybe, it's a good thing. He closes his eyes, as though it will help.

 

They're already halfway to Chupa Cabra's before Soul realizes where Black*Star's taking him.

 

"Dude, again?" It comes out way more petulant than Soul wants to admit, and Black*Star shoots him a look.

 

"What? You don't wanna go to Chupa Cabra's? The fuck, man?" Soul shrugs. He hadn't really meant to say that out loud, but he's more concerned with going home and cleaning his busted knuckles and staring at the TV until he can turn his brain off. He doesn't generally mind going to the club as often as they do. It's been a good source of information; lots of mobsters drinking, loose tongues and eager dancers. Especially in the past year or so, Chupa Cabra's has been a hotspot for the organization, and Soul's been focusing more of his energy into figuring out what makes the club such a bed of Arachnophobia activity.

 

Even still, his mind is roiling, and it would be nice to have a goddamned night off from the fucking club, but Black*Star is still staring at him, so instead he says,

 

"It's cool." Black*Star's still got this offended look on his face, as if he can't conceive of a being who  _wouldn't_ jump at the chance to stare at tits and asses all night. "I'm just fuckin' tired, man." Soul grins, small and sly, and Black*Star takes the bait.

 

"Haaaahahaha! Oh, man, I fuckin'  _knew_ it! Did you have another wild night with ah, man. What's her name...Ginger?" Soul grinned and let his comrade's imagination run wild.

 

"I dunno. It might have been Trixie." The blue-haired man punches Soul in the shoulder.

 

"Just take it easy tonight, bro. Bitches are always going to be ready to go." He laughs heartily, and Soul's not sure if Black*Star is laughing because he thinks he just made some kind of joke, or if he's just being Black*Star. Soul's learned to just go ahead and assume the latter. He rolls his eyes. One hand casually on the wheel, Black*Star continues to chuckle.

* * *

 

By all rights, Chupa Cabra's should be dead as a fucking doorknob on a Tuesday night. Soul supposes that there are certain perks for a club whose clientele largely draws from the local mob operation. For the dancers and staff, it means a lot of long ass hours all week long. For Soul, that means a lot of turnover between dancers, and a lot of nights wasted in the club just to determine who might be able to give him some tidbits of information. It also means a lot caution. In a club full of people whose livelihood is dicking over other people illegally, there're a lot of suspicious eyes everywhere.

 

The music hasn't quite been upgraded to the prime time bump-thumping pounding noise that it usually is, which makes Soul eternally grateful. He's pretty sure that his pain killer consumption has gone up by a whole fucking order of magnitude to combat the headaches he gets coming here night after night.

 

Black*Star finds them a table right off, and as usual, it's smack dab in the middle of the club. Soul doesn't like the feeling of having his back exposed, but there's not much that can be done about it, and at least he's got a good view of most of the rest of the place and the stage. Black*Star imperiously raises a hand, and snaps his fingers a couple of times. Soul tries not to cringe. He doesn't know how Black*Star manages to be such a dick and yet still hasn't had someone poison his drink. Moreover, Soul can't fathom how, without fail, a waitress manages to bustle over with speed. Soul shakes his head, and continues his scan of the club. There's a decent crowd, but it's still pretty early by club standards, and Soul can still easily discern individual faces.

 

He manages a quick headcount of the mobsters he knows, of those, how many are Tuesday regulars, how many aren't, who's all ready several drinks deep...he's just about got it squared away when he's interrupted by the waitress.

 

"What can I get for you, boys?" Soul turns, and is blindsided by creamy bare thighs and a suspiciously familiar pair of legs. Short skirt, filmy white button down, tight stomach, two ashy blond pigtails, and a pair of mossy green eyes. He registers the moment of surprise in her eyes before she clamps down on it. It seems off, somehow, given where she works, but he pushes the thought away.

 

"Tom Collins," he murmurs, eyes never leaving hers. Black*Star orders a pint of something, and Soul watches as the waitress starts to flush under his gaze.

 

"Can I get your name this time, sweetheart?" he asks. She titters, and the sound is a little bit fake, and a lot irritating to his ears, but he can clearly see the fellows at the tables around them respond favorably to the sound of her voice.

 

"You can call me Kitten," she drawls, and stalks off with their order. Soul watches her go, equal parts intrigued and perturbed. There is just something about that girl. At least he knows the mystery of why she had bowed out to Ginger the other night. Kitten is  _definitely_ not a dancer. He's shaken out of his reverie by a hearty punch on the shoulder.

 

"You  _dog_ ," Black*Star grins, and it takes Soul's brain a moment to catch up. "I told you man, take a break for a night. Even your dick needs a rest day." Soul shrugs, smirking. He'd be lying if he said that Kitten wasn't one hot piece of ass, but that wasn't ultimately the source of his interest. There is something about that woman that sets off warning alarms in the back of his head, and he's spent too many years dodging bullets to ignore a hunch like this one.

 

There's a plan forming in the back of his head now, slowly but surely. Soul turns back, eyes scanning the room once again. He lets the thought sit, doesn't poke or prod it, just lets his brain provide the pertinent details...more than anything, he doesn't want to let whatever his instincts are trying to tell him slip through his fingers. So he waits. Kitten comes back with their drinks in short order, and Soul doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's watching her every movement. If she notices, and really, how could she not, she manages to take it all in stride pretty well.

 

She's a little unsteady on her feet with a tray full of drinks and the appetizers Black*Star had ordered. Now that he's noticed, it's easier to tell the slight tremors in her ankles. He tries not to think too much about those mile-long legs as his eyes slowly pan up her body. Even through the dimmed lights and occasional flash of the stage lights, Soul's sharp eyes pick out a deep pink scar skimming her hip. He squints a little because if he were asked, he'd want to say that that looks suspiciously like a bullet wound, but she shifts the tray, and he can't make it out anymore.

 

"Can I get anything else for you gentlemen?" She's got a hip cocked, and she's smiling prettily at the both of them. But Soul's really looking at her now, and her eyes, while crinkled in a smile, are just as observative as his own. In fact, the more he drinks in her appearance, the more  _wrong_ she seems for this setting, this job. Part of it he chalks up to still being relatively new. She's obviously worked as a waitress before at least. But it's barely 10pm, and she's subtly shifting from foot to foot as though her heels are already bothering her.

 

He's very literally nudged out of his reverie by Black*Star.

 

"Nothing for me,  _Kitten_ , but maybe my friend here is looking for a little something more,  _ **eh**_?" Black*Star isn't really known for his subtly, but even this is a little over the top. Soul just manages to hide his wince by turning it into just about the smarmiest expression he can muster. He exaggerates the up-down he's already giving her. He meets her gaze with his own, and really isn't all that surprised to see the layer of steel under those soft green eyes.

 

"Maybe later," Soul drawls, never breaking her gaze. He can see her shoulders begin to tense underneath the flimsy oxford even as she smirks right back at him.

 

"Maybe never," she retorts. "Maybe I can call Ginger over for you?" The steel in her eyes belies her flirty tone. Black*Star begins to snicker. Soul shoots him a dirty look, and he bursts into raucous guffaws.

 

"Maybe that's a good idea," he finally replies, as Black*Star's laughter fades. "But I think I've still got my sights on something else." Kitten's lips twist into something that can only be described as pleasant in the loosest of terms.

 

"Keep dreaming, tiger," she shoots back, and Soul's surprised that her eyes could get  _less_ friendly. She takes her tray, and stalks off, back towards the bar. Soul's not sure what he's done to get underneath the waitress's skin, but he likes it. That niggling little hunch in the back of his brain is screaming again; if he can get under her skin, then there's something under there to get at.

 

"Ow,  _shit_. What the fuck was that for?" Next to him, Black*Star grins, pulling back his fist.

 

"Jesus man, you just got fuckin'  _ice burned_ by a stripper,' he chortles. "That was amazing." Soul holds his arm gingerly.

 

"She's not a stripper, she's a waitress. And  _I did not_."

 

"You totally did. Face it, bro. You just got told by a  _waitress_." Soul glowers. He can already feel a bruise beginning to form on his arm. He sees Kitten making her way to another table loaded down with drinks. She smiles, and from here it looks genuine, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and laughs. He can't hear her from where he's sitting, but there's not a trace of the irritated woman who had just left their table.

_The mitigating factor then_ , his brain pipes up, _is_  you. And Soul is going to find out why.


	3. Start me off and watch me go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maka finds herself curious.

Chapter 3: Start Me Off and Watch Me Go

* * *

By the time she gets home from Chupa Cabra's, all she wants to do is pour herself a stiff drink and sack out on the couch until unconsciousness takes her. Instead, her exhaustion is tempered by the stress of her night. Screw the drink, she wants to break something. Preferably the skull of that smug little albino jackass. In the two and a half weeks since she's been at Chupa Cabra's, Maka has been stared at, winked at, groped, propositioned, and drooled on. Until tonight, the worst of them has been Giriko, who has a particular talent for being insulting and skeezy. The thug disgusts her, but he doesn't scare her like this guy does.

She'd been startled when he turned up at one of her tables and asked her name. She hadn't expected him to remember her- compared with Ginger, she's forgettable at best. But he had. The white-haired slimeball had stared at her like he was memorizing her, taking her apart. Like he wanted to find out all of her secrets. That idea terrified Maka-still terrifies her, in fact.

If she wants to be honest with herself, it's really her own fault. She never should have done something so stupid as to dart into a closed VIP room like that. It was impulsive and foolish, and a rookie mistake in a place where she absolutely  _cannot_  afford to make rookie mistakes. The more she thinks about it, the more she wants to berate herself. She goes ahead and pours herself a drink because breaking the coffee table might be therapeutic, but it would also wake up Tsubaki, and that's a no-go. For a moment, she stares at the gin in her freezer before scowling because she hears  _his_  voice, and then reaching for the vodka.

Screwdriver in hand, she begins to pour over her casebooks, flipping past detailing and descriptions. She wants to say that she's seen this guy before, that he's one of the regulars, but until that night in the VIP room, he'd never popped up on her radar for more than a moment. That in and of itself is deeply worrisome considering the company he was keeping. She stares blankly at her ciphered writing for a moment, then takes a deep breath and scraps looking for a white-haired man. Instead, she focuses on his friend, who is even more distinctive. She  _knows_ him; blue hair, star tattoos on each arm,  _loud_...she scans her notes furiously and it doesn't take long for her to hit a match for one Black*Star, a mid-level goon for Arachnophobia. He's  _definitely_ a regular at Chupa Cabra's, and just as she hoped, she's got a little margin note;  _Usually seen in the company of white-haired male, late twenties, approx. 6ft; name unknown, no known alias._  With a sigh, Maka makes another entry. She'll find out the deal with this guy. For now, she labels him  _"Albino Shark,"_  and takes another sip of her drink. She'll put in a request for files on this Black*Star guy tomorrow...who knows, maybe she'll even get them in a reasonable amount of time. If she plays her cards right, she might even be able to convince Tsubaki to take a look and see if there's anything she can use to profile this thug and his little albino friend.

Wednesday morning dawns bright and clear, and Maka takes note of it long enough to get up and pull her curtains shut, grumbling the whole way. She flings herself back into bed and remains blissfully unconscious until noon. When she stirs again, she can smell bacon and coffee, which, while delicious, is also unusual. It lures her from her cocoon of blankets, and she slips on her robe before going to investigate.

"Tsubaki?" The dark-haired woman looks up from the stove at the sound of her name.

"Oh, Maka! I was wondering when you'd be getting up." Maka joins her in the kitchen, pulling down a coffee mug.

"Mm, yeah. Noon's about normal these days." She fixes her coffee and settles into one of the bar stools. She's about two sips in when she looks up and gives her roommate a suspicious look."It's Wednesday, right?"

"Last time I checked."

"Why aren't you at work?"

Tsubaki grins and dishes up a few slices of bacon and a scrambled egg. "I was wondering when you'd notice. I went ahead and switched shifts with Jacquie-last night was my first night. I figured it might be nice to actually see my best friend every once in a while." Maka smiles back at her. She can hear the unspoken words; Tsubaki will never say it out loud, but Maka knows her roommate worries about her, especially when she's on a long case like this. She says it with dinner left in the oven and breakfast. She thinks that maybe she ought to feel a little offended that Tsubaki thinks that she can't take care of herself, but Maka knows how many nights she's gone without dinner before, too caught up in the chase to stop for food. She watches her friend move around the kitchen, fixing her own breakfast, and acknowledges that it's less about  _her_  and more about the fact that Tsubaki is just one of those people-giving and caring to a beautiful fault.

Maka suspects that that's the real reason she insists on working at the diner. The last time she had asked her roommate why she didn't use her degree for something worthwhile, Tsubaki had just given her one of those looks, and replied with, "Who says I'm not? Surely what I do isn't any different than you using your own degree to become a cop?" Maka had dropped the subject, mouth twisted in a smile. It was hard to refute her roommate's logic.

"You sure you're ok with that? I know you're not much of a night owl." Tsubaki thumps her lightly on the back of the head.

"And you  _are_?" She grins at the black-haired woman.

"Ok, yes. Fair enough."

"Besides, Jacquie was looking for a break from the night shift for a while. I think she might be seeing someone..."

Maka grins and enjoys the moment of normalcy. She hadn't really realized how much she missed the time she got to spend sitting and gossiping with her best friend. They finish their meal together, and Maka does her part to wash up. It's not her favorite chore in the world, but she's glad that she can actually help her roommate for once. Perhaps she can help out a little more by hitting up the grocery store so Tsubaki doesn't have to.

Hands sudsy and water steaming, she immerses herself in the task and tries to plan through what's left of her day. Wednesdays are the only days she reliably has to herself, and she's already promised to meet with Liz and Patti for coffee before they have to go in. She's got to make her weekly report drop to Kid, too...and make sure she adds in her requests. Maka sighs.

What she  _wants_  to do is maybe sleep a little more then stay in all day with a book and a pot of tea. She looks longingly at her stack of library books on her way to the bathroom, and makes another mental note to go ahead and return them while she's at it.

* * *

Maka makes her way to the little coffee shop on 4th and Styx at a leisurely pace. Her day off is at least nice, and she revels in the feeling of her feet in her favorite pair of boots and the comfort of her ancient hoodie. The Thompson sisters are already waiting for her when she gets there, and despite the fact that they're both in jeans and t-shirts, they still manage to look glamorous. On any other day she might feel jealous, but she's far too pleased to be out of high heels and tiny skirts to really care. They both smile as she approaches, and get up to greet her; Maka finds herself in a flurry of arms and cheek kisses and laughter. It's a novel feeling, and it's the kind of display that would have made her extremely uncomfortable a week ago. But it's just the way that Liz and Pattie are, and Maka envies them their effusive acceptance of her.

They sit and Pattie slides over the coffee they ordered for her.

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip. It's good coffee, and more importantly, the napkin it's been sitting on has been scribbled on. She flicks her eyes up at Pattie casually, and the younger blond smiles and laughs heartily.

"You're welcome, Honey!" They sit and talk about innocuous things; three friends out on a Wednesday afternoon. Maka keeps a sharp eye out for people who seem to be lingering around their outdoor table, but so far everyone has come and gone within a reasonable time limit, and she feels pretty confident that in the unlikely event there  _is_  someone watching them, they're good enough that she'd be fucked anyway.

"I waited on a new guy last night," she finally ventures. Liz raises an eyebrow and Pattie slurps on her Italian soda a little louder.

"New guy?" Liz looks genuinely puzzled, Maka notes, but then both Thompson girls have a lot of bright lights in their faces while on stage, and they don't spend the same amount of time in and around the customers on the floor as she does. Liz smiles slyly, though her eyes remain fixed on Maka's. "What's he look like, is he cute?"

"Are you going to leave us for the glamorous world of marriage?" Pattie pipes up. Maka ducks her head as if embarrassed, and tries to think of how to describe a man in terms other than "as a perp." It's harder than she thought it would be.

"Um, well. He's unusual," she begins, "about 5'11", 170 lbs-" and she stops herself with a grimace because that is really  _not_  the way to describe a cute guy in a club. "He's  _lean_ ," she tries and Liz nods, grinning at her. "But still muscular. And uh, very tan...he's got white hair that's really striking, and these really, um, gorgeous red eyes." Both Thompsons are looking at her a little askance.

"Sounds like quite the hottie," Pattie supplies. Maka blinks. Taken objectively, she supposes that the Albino Shark could be considered attractive. Though she's more concerned with his role in Arachnophobia than the broad set of his shoulders. She nods and smiles.

"Yeah, he's pretty cute. You seen him before?"

"He's not new, sweetie, that's the Eater," Liz supplies. Maka raises an eyebrow and Liz shrugs. "That just what they call him."

"Sounds fascinating. How come I just started noticing him? He's pretty distinctly...handsome," she adds, and it's Pattie's turn to grin at her.

"He's been a regular at the club for the last year or so. He's friends with Black*Star, and even  _he_  doesn't stand out next to 'Star." Maka recalls the shock of blue hair and the tats and the sheer  _noise_ , and nods. Eater, with his low voice and piercing stare, pretty much disappears next to the loud brashness of his friend. She wishes she could figure out what about the guy bothers her so much. By all rights, he should just fade away into the backdrop of Chupa Cabra's and Arachnophobia. He doesn't seem to be anything special. The younger Thompson slurps the last of her drink.

"We'll keep an eye on him for you," she offers. "See if he's  _available_." Maka smiles and nods. She appreciates their help more than they can know, and resolves to do something nice for them as a thank you once this is all over. In the interim, however, she finishes her coffee and pretends like this is just a normal social visit.

She leaves the coffee shop full of extra details and tidbits that might prove pertinent later. When she's a few blocks away, she pulls out the napkin Pattie gave her and scans it. There's not much there, mostly just some information about the proclivities of a few of the regulars: Boris has been missing for a few days, and Liz suspects that Giriko's got a cocaine habit; Cherry's out for at least a week, which is strange, but she doesn't think much about it. She'll have to sort through all the information when she gets home, though the tidbits about Giriko seem promising. On her way home, she drops the thick manila envelope that contains her report off at the post office, with a few hastily scrawled last minute notes in it.

It's addressed to a dummy editorial office's PO Box and Kid sends someone, usually Azusa, to check it every other day. Maka doesn't particularly care for how indirect the system is; she wants to hand in her reports face to face, to  _know_  that her words are going directly to her boss, but even she can't argue against the fact that Arachnophobia has eyes just about everywhere these days. It's safer for her, and, more importantly, for her cover, if she plays it off this way. The city is filled with people who want to be something they're not-actors, singers, dancers, writers...it's no great stretch that a girl like Maka might take up a job at the place like Chupa Cabra's until she "made it big" with a script or a novel. She'd hear something back from him in a day or so-confirmation that he'd gotten her report, at the very least. It was intensely frustrating to not be able to get immediate feedback from her captain. It was even more frustrating to know that what information she's been able to send so far hasn't been much help. The whole  _situation_  leaves her irritated and frustrated.

She's so focused on her annoyance that she nearly misses the shock of white hair at the crosswalk as she comes out of the post office. She looks up at the flash of white, then nearly dismisses it as an older gentleman. Except he's not really hunched over in age so much as slouching as he walks, hands shoved deep into his pockets. What really cinches it is his hair, artfully messy, and much longer than most older men wear their hair. Maka follows him from a distance before she can let her brain convince her otherwise-if she's wrong, no harm, no foul. But if it  _is_ him, she thinks she can manage to snag a cell phone photo for her records, maybe see if he meets anyone.

He slows after he crosses the street, and while she'd been hoping that he would continue on and she could keep a reasonable distance between them, that doesn't appear to be happening. So she watches him from the corner of her eye, keeping her head down and slipping into the rest of the crowd at the corner. He doesn't seem to notice her, so she pulls her phone out, holds it up like she's trying to get a signal, and quickly snaps his picture. The crowd is starting to thin, and she can make out the fact that he's answering a call before she's forced to shuffle away with the rest of the crowd lest she be spotted.

* * *

Thursday night finds her back in the club, ancient boots exchanged for heeled knee-high monstrosities, worn out jeans discarded in favor of yet another micro skirt. Maka considers being worried that her feet appear to be adapting to the various forms of ridiculous footwear Blair insists she wear, but she's far more concerned with keeping an eye out for the albino menace. She'd gotten a text from Liz in the middle of the night:

_He's looking for you :D_

She's not sure if Liz thought that that was supposed to be a warning or reassuring, but she's not hoping for the best. Maka takes it as a good sign that he's not lying in wait for her when she goes into Chupa Cabra's, but the night is still young, and as she makes her way from customer to customer, she keeps an eye out for disturbing hair colors. She tries not to whip her head around whenever she catches a flash of blue or white out of the corner of her eye, but it takes all of her police discipline to stay focused and not look like she's having some kind of spasming fit. So when she catches the flash of purple, she doesn't pay it any mind until there's a set of well-manicured claws wrapped around one of her arms. She stiffens, and starts to turn and wrench her arm away.

"Easy there, Kitten, it's just me." Maka eases her foot back to the ground at the silky sound of Blair's voice and hopes no one noticed that she was about to kick her boss.

"You startled me, Miss Blair," she exclaims, though even to her ears it sounds a little flat. "I thought it was another one of the boys getting grabby."

Blair smiles. "Men do have wandering hands, don't they?" Blair doesn't look terribly upset at the prospect, but then again, she's not the one out on the floor politely slapping away octopus hands night after night. "Walk with me, Kitten." Maka can feel her heart begin to pound in her chest. She thinks of Eater the Albino Shark and wonders what she gave away, if he had noticed her following him, where she slipped up-because Blair was a friendly boss, even relatively kind for the sort of woman who managed a mob-owned night club, but she  _doesn't_  come out onto the floor, and she certainly doesn't come to grab waitresses for "walks" herself. Her entire demeanor is off, and it makes Maka incredibly nervous as Blair slips her arm through Maka's and leads her through the club's floor to the little door near the stage, smiling and flirting with the customers the whole way. Maka smiles and winks and giggles where it's required even as her mind races to figure out if maybe Liz or Pattie slipped, and just what she's going to do when this whole thing plummets south and she's discovered.

They enter the narrow hallway that leads to the dressing rooms and the labyrinthine office suites of Chupa Cabra's, and Maka tries not to think about how dark it is, about how the music would cover her screams. Blair tightens her hold on Maka's elbow, and she feels like a wire getting ready to snap at a moment's notice. She's got a long list of things that she's expecting her boss to say next, but, "I need a favor," isn't one of them.

"Beg pardon?" It slips out of her mouth before she can stop herself. Blair looks uncomfortable for a moment.

"It's not something that I like doing, you understand. I am normally very firm when it comes to my girls and what their jobs are, but sometimes we get, ah- _requests_  from patrons and it's really just...well, you did such a good job in your interview..."

She doesn't quite believe the words Blair is tripping over. "I'm-I'm sorry, what?"

Blair tilts her head, sensuous mouth pulling into a frown. "I didn't take you for stupid. We've had a  _request_ , Kitten. One of our regulars wants to see you, specifically.  _Privately_. I don't particularly want to pull you from the floor - you do excellent work, and I didn't hire you to be a dancer."

"...But we have to keep the customers happy." Blair nods, and her features clear up, deviously playful behavior back in full force.

"We understand each other perfectly. You know my motto: the customer always comes first." It takes every ounce of willpower Maka has to not roll her eyes.

Instead, she manages a fairly neutral, "When?" Blair gives her a quick up-down, and then her hands are in Maka's flimsy shirt, grabbing her breasts before she can react. All business, she tugs Maka's tits up and in, and by the time she realizes what's happening, Blair's finished, and is giving her an approving nod.

"Now would be good, I think...no, wait." She tugs one of Maka's pigtails straight and smiles. "Yes, wonderful. You're gorgeous, you'll knock him dead. Just remember," she says, leading Maka back to one of the VIP rooms, "head up, keep eye contact. Feel sexy, and you  _will be_  sexy. It's all about confidence, Kitten." And with that, she bustles away, leaving Maka in front of a familiar door.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. She doesn't much like it, but Blair's advice is sound, and in fact is something she's told herself before. She opens the door and hopes that her bug is still active in the track lighting.

The first thing that she notices is that it's  _dim_. Not in the low-lit romantic sense, but more in a way that makes her want to reach for a gun that isn't there.

"Hello?" she calls out, forcing her voice into something more timid. Her eyes take another moment to adjust, and she can just make out the lounging figure in front of her. She gets the impression of broad shoulders and spiky hair, and her heart sinks because she knows who is there.


	4. Still Got my Glock Cocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul's got a problem and her name is Kitten.

Chapter 4: Still Got My Glock Cocked

* * *

He's spent the last day or so trying to get his brain around the mystery of Kitten. The more he thinks about her, the more off and strange she seems. She doesn't fit in with Chupa Cabra's, and not necessarily in a physical sense - she's certainly attractive enough. It's her demeanor. The girls who work at Chupa Cabra's are universally more...mild. Sure, they play like Ginger does - coy and flirty, but when it boils down to it, they're a group of women who've had the misfortune to work in a strip joint that's under the purview of the mob. But Kitten - Soul recalls the flirty woman who slipped into his VIP room, and the saucy waitress with the fiery, challenging look in her eyes. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Kitten doesn't like him, or that women like her don't last long in a place like this.

Wednesday night, he manages to snag one of the dancers, making her rounds after a set. He recognizes her honey blond hair and gives her a winning smile.

"Hey Bambi." She smiles and stops, all attentive congeniality.  _This_ , he thinks,  _this is the difference_.

"Hey there, baby. What can I do for you?" For a moment, Soul considers asking her back to one of the VIP rooms, but he doubts there would really be much to gain by it. Instead, he spreads his knees in an invitation.

"Thought you might enjoy a rest." Bambi laughs, and it's throaty and real - not some artificial giggle. She perches on his knee and drapes an arm across his shoulder.

"Oh,  _always_. That all you want, baby? Can I order you a drink? Maybe give you a little  _private_ session?" Her other hand rests on his chest, one finger tracing the collar of his shirt.

"Mm. Maybe later. Those are some impressive moves you've got there, sweetheart." She laughs again, and brushes her thigh against his crotch. He manages to not flinch, but it's a very near thing.

"Couldn't have been that impressive, but you're such a sweet flatterer. You know," she says, and her thigh brushes against him again. It's a little more difficult to remain impassive this time, but he smiles, even if it is a little tense. "My friend was right when she said what a charmer you are."  _This_ catches his attention. He runs a hand along Bambi's thigh.

"Oh, I see how it is. Talking about me behind my back with your friends. Who's the clever girl spreading all these wonderful rumors about me?" Bambi looks over him for a moment, and Soul gets the impression that perhaps he was mistaken about the women of Chupa Cabra's. There is nothing subservient or mild in Bambi's gaze; this is the look of a woman who has seen her fair share of life on the streets. Almost as soon as he's processed it, the look is gone, and her fingers are playing with his collar.

"Oh, I think you know her. She's taken quite a liking to you." His breath hitches a little. This could be just the opportunity he's been waiting for.

"Mm. Does her name happen to be Kitten?"

"How did you know?" Soul notes that, despite her words, she doesn't really seem that surprised by his guess.

"I'm just a perceptive kinda fellow. Where is Kitten, by the way? If she's taken such a liking to me, maybe I could get to ah, know her a little better?" He tries for nonchalant and arrogant - he's with Arachnophobia, used to getting what he wants, smug and confident in his question. This is what he tells himself at least.

"Oh she's interested. But you gotta know...big, strong man like you? You intimidate her." She flicks a bit of his hair. He smiles, and lets his teeth show. He very much doubts Bambi's assertion; he saw defiance and strength in Kitten's eyes before, not fear. He leans close and keeps eye contact.

"Would you me a favor, Bambi? Let her know there's nothing to be scared of. I've taken quite a liking to her as well." Perhaps it will be easier than he thinks to draw Kitten out. He's not betting on it, though.

"That all I can do for you, tiger?" He smiles at her and gives her a pat on the ass.

"Yeah, I think it is." She extracts herself gracefully, and bends down, giving Soul a nice show. She taps one long nail against his check.

"She'll be in tomorrow night," Bambi offers, and then she's gone, swirling away through the tables and toward the bar. He watches her go and hangs around long enough to convince Black*Star that what he really wants is greasy diner food and not ass.

* * *

Black*Star gives him shit when he mentions heading back to the club Thursday night, and though he knows that his boss is teasing him, Soul doesn't bother to hide his irritation and calls him a hypocrite. Black*Star just shrugs and gives him a ridiculously smug grin.

"I got somewhere  _else_ to be tonight, you know? You have fun for me, though."

"Whatever," he says, and hops on his bike. He's glad that he's not going to have to watch out for Black*Star for a night. As ridiculous as he is, the mobster is surprisingly perceptive, and it will be easier to grab Kitten without Black*Star breathing down his neck.

He's at Chupa Cabra's before the night shift is scheduled to come on duty, and while he doesn't really want to seem like a creeper, he'd rather not miss making sure that Kitten comes in. And boy, does she. Now that Soul is looking for things to critique, Kitten is a beacon of wrongness in the club. Her smiles are a little too brittle, and you can see that it takes her a half a second to respond to a client. When she does, it's genuine sounding enough, but it's enough for him. Fortunately for Kitten, Chupa Cabra's clientele isn't looking for something amiss with their waitress, and even if they did notice, Soul's reasonably sure that her skirt was short enough and her legs long enough that they remained distracted enough to make it a moot point.

Soul contemplates calling her over, or better yet, going to her. He's pretty sure that Blair wouldn't mind if he snagged one of her girls, even one of her waitresses, for a little chat as long as she was compensated. She still looks like she's poised to run at the slightest hint of challenge, though and he holds back, keeping his hat on and to the shadows. He loses her for a little bit, distracted by his beer and Roxy's set on the main stage, but picks her up again after a second. Except she's not alone.

Soul isn't sure why Blair's on the floor, but it's hard to miss her. It's hard for anyone to ignore the buxom woman, even when she  _isn't_ hellbent on turning on the charm. He hasn't had much chance to talk with her; as far as Soul can tell, she manages the club and reports to Medusa herself. Still, she doesn't seem to have anything to do with the actual mob operation. She's got one hand wrapped casually around Kitten's arm, and the waitress looks almost alarmed as her boss begins to tow her through she club. She doesn't resist, but Soul isn't an FBI agent for nothing. She's confused and hesitant, but she's trying to cover it up.

He watches Blair lead the blond woman back towards the VIP rooms, and his heart thumps. Could this be the opportunity that he's been looking for? She could be about to make the upgrade from waitress to dancer. Where they missing a dancer tonight that she might have to fill in for? But no, he dimly recalls that the offices and backstage dressing rooms are behind the same door as the VIP rooms, so it's just possible that she's somehow gotten into trouble. The trouble is that there's really no way to tell.

Blair emerges a few minutes later without Kitten, and he feels it's safe to eliminate Kitten being in trouble, which leaves him antsy and curious all at once. He pushes back from his table and winds his way through the tables and conversations on the main floor. As he does, he takes a moment to scan the usuals' tables and raised booths. All of the Thursday regulars are in, he's pretty sure. He catches Blair near the bar, and sidles up to her smooth as he can.

"What's your pleasure, Miss Blair?" Her eyes dart over to him, and she smiles, giving him a blatant up-down.

"Scotch on the rocks," she says, and the bartender hustles to pour for her. Soul smiles languidly, and tries not to think about how the purple-haired madam is eyeing him like a choice piece of meat.

"I don't see you a lot out here, Miss Blair," he leads. She takes her scotch (he's sure it's top-shelf, too) and gives him a coy smirk.

"Running this place takes up so much of my time. I don't get to walk the tables as much as I'd like."

"Special occasion tonight?" She sips, bracing herself against the bar in a way that draws attention to her generous assets. She's gorgeous, and what's more, she's fully aware of her affect on anything with a dick in a fifteen foot radius.

"Somewhat. Sometimes though, it's just nice to get out of my stuffy old office and visit with my girls." He nods.

"I bet. It's a shame you spend so much time cooped up. It's much more entertaining when you're out here." She quirks her mouth at him and giggles.

"You are a shameless flatterer, and I like your style."

"I try. Say," he starts, and he can see Blair's warm eyes go a little cold. She's knows what the buttering was for now, and she's expecting him to ask for a personal favor. Soul doesn't disappoint. "I know you busy, but I have a favor to ask for - there's this girl."

Blair smiles and pats him on the cheeks lightly. "Oh, pumpkin, isn't there always."

He gives her a toothy little grin. "There is, isn't there? She's a sassy little thing, and I can't stop staring at her. Is there anyway you could, ah...maybe arrange a meeting?"

Blair's flat out smirking at him now. She drags one manicured nail along his cheek; takes another sip of her whiskey. "You know, I never realized when I hired that little kitty that she'd become so popular. The way I see it, she is completely wasted as a waitress."

Soul's heart thuds in his chest. He keeps his voice even; there's no logical reason for him to be feeling antsy, even if his brain is making leaps of conjecture. "So...she's, ah...taken?"

Blair brushes a little bit of hair behind his ear and pats his cheek. "For the moment, yes, but I may have to rethink Kitten's working arrangements if this keeps up."

"Do I get to ask who I'm competing with for her time?" He gives her his best rakish grin as he says it, and she chuckles lowly.

"You can ask all you want, pumpkin, but I don't like the idea of jealous clients around my girls, waitresses or not." He returns her laugh.

"I think she's a pretty piece of work, but jealousy isn't really my thing."

"Oh, pumpkin, it's not you I'm worried about." She gives him one last pat, and turns, dismissing him. Soul gives her another of his winning smiles and throws down a twenty on the bar.

As he makes his way back across the floor, his eyes light on an empty table. He stops and his brain catches on fire. He knows who is missing from his Thursday night lineup, and why Blair is concerned withe jealous clients.

* * *

His touch is oily on her skin, like he's been eating potato chips or movie theater popcorn and is wiping his greasy fingerprints all over her skin. She's never wanted a shower as much as she does when Giriko slides his palms over her stomach. She doesn't shudder, but it's a near thing, and Maka has to call on years of stone-faced policing to keep her expression fixed in "ditzily pleasant."

Fortunately for her, Giriko doesn't seem to give a shit. He's got a permanent leer on his face, and ever since she walked in the door, his eyes have been trained on her body.

"I want a drink," he states, and she nods, disentangling herself from his hands.

"Jack and Coke?"

His lips twist, and he runs his tongue over his teeth. His eyes never leave her. "You got it, baby."

She's worried that the residue left by his gaze is something that she won't be able to wash away, but she figures that she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. She hands him the drink, and he kicks it back, heedless of the way the excess spills down his chin and chest. He thunks the glass down, and then his hands are back, and she concentrates on listening to the low thump of the music and not the way he's gripping her hips. His hands are unfortunately steady, despite the way he reeks of booze and the way his legs are shaking - like he's got too much energy, like he's about to rocket to his feet any second.

She doesn't want to talk to him or be anywhere near him, but she's alone in the room with a notorious, known member of Arachnophobia, and regardless of the fact that she wants to do nothing more than break every bone in the man's body, she's a  _cop_ , and she's got a job to do.

"You like what you see, handsome?" She twists in his grasp, spins a little and smiles. She tries for youthful, for innocent but sexy. The way his eyes darken, she suspects it's working. She hasn't forgotten what he said to her a couple of days ago, and wonders if Giriko isn't hiding more just than a cocaine habit.

"Take off your top." It's not a request, and she tries not to grind her teeth as she smiles. Her bra, frilly as it is, is still at least as covering as a bikini. She keeps swaying her hips to the music as her fingers fumble with the buttons.

"Sorry," she laughs a little nervously, "I...I've never done this before," she admits with just the right amount of blushing and eye-contact. He smiles, and bares sharpened teeth. He's got her shirt in his hand before she can react and he's  _fast_ , so much faster than she would have thought. He yanks and the flimsy material rips. He's not smiling anymore.

"Stop fuckin' around." She wants to deck that asshole in the face, but instead she gives a muffled shriek, and tries to look shocked and panicked. Her blood burns at the thought of how many women he's tried this intimidation tactic on. "I ain't in the mood for you playin' coy like you're some virtuous fuckin' bitch."

Her hands itch, and she tries not to clench them into fists. She wants information from this guy, but at what price? She's seconds away from snapping, even as her hands go for the flimsy buttons on her skirt, and if she takes him down like she wants, her cover will be completely blown.

Her skirt drops to the floor and he's reaching for her again, greasy fingers clawing at her thigh highs and she is going to slug him in the  _goddamned_ face - maybe if she's lucky, he'll be too coked out of his mind to remember who punched him - when the door slams open.

Giriko freezes, and she watches his eyes widen and narrow in the space of a heartbeat.

"The  _fuck_ do  _you_  want. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's someone out here looking for you. Said it was urgent. From  _you know_." Any thankfulness she feels for the distraction drains away as soon as the intruder speaks. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Eater's voice is hard to mistake for anything else. She doesn't turn, but watches Giriko as closely as she dares.

"Fuckin' punk, fuckin' bullshit." He shoves her away and stands, swaying on his feet slightly. She stumbles back, but despite her heels, doesn't lose her balance. He's up in Eater's face before she can blink, growling. "I am not to fuckin' be disturbed when I'm back here. You got me, you little shit? I don't care if the goddamned  _queen fucking bee_ herself is out there asking for me."

Eater looks bored. He shrugs, leaning against the door frame.

"I'm just following orders, man." Giriko growls again, and shoves past Eater. He stumbles a little, which fills Maka with a small amount of satisfaction.

And then there were two. Eater doesn't remain in the door frame for long. With two strides he crosses to where she's standing. Stupidly, she wants to cover herself; her work clothes are still on the floor by her feet, and it isn't as though he hasn't seen everything already.

Giriko's left her feeling exposed and twitchy, though, and Eater has a way of looking at her that makes her feel like he can see straight into her soul. But she doesn't cross her arms over her chest. She doesn't stand up straight and defiantly either, because here, now, that is more than she wants to reveal.

"You ok?" It's not what she's expecting  _at all_ -not the warm tone, not what sounds like genuine concern. Her eyes flick up to meet his, and she finds it difficult to reconcile the man she had walked in on - all suave, collected, entitled - to the one who has bent down and is trying to hand her her skirt. "This isn't right," he states when she doesn't reply, and she barely manages to not roll her eyes into the back of her head.

"It's the way things are," she says, and she hates herself a little for it. But she knows from experience it's true. She understands the note Pattie slipped her now, and why Cherry's going to be out for at least a week. Maka also knows that even if she could go to the dancer and get her to admit what happened, she'll never actually press charges. She buttons her skirt and doesn't look him in the eyes again, afraid he'll see her loathing.

"That doesn't make it ok." This does make her look up, startled. He looks serious, not like he's trying to play her. She shrugs into her tattered shirt and ties it over her bra.

"No," she agrees after a moment, and once more fixes him with her gaze. "But it isn't going to change."

"Are you going to wait for him to come back?" It's a strange question she thinks, but then again, maybe not. Wouldn't most girls be afraid of leaving without permission?  _Fuck it_ , she thinks.

"No."

She doesn't thank him, though she kind of wants to. If he hadn't stepped in, she's not sure what might have happened, other than her cover surely would have been blown. But owing him doesn't really sit well with her either, and she can't trust the idea that he might not be the kind of man who would hold that over her. She pauses on her way out the door and stands uncomfortably close to him. She can smell him, even over the lingering scent of liquor and sweat and other bodily smells that come par for the course in a club like this. He doesn't smell like any of the aftershave or colognes that most men use, and for a second it disorients her because it isn't what she's expecting.

"Look. Meet me - meet me after I get off work. You know that little alley between Delilah's and New Hope?"

"On 34th?" She nods and leans in just a little more. Her hand brushes against his belt, fingertips light. Eater blinks slowly and exhales through his nose heavily. She channels Blair and smiles, licking her lips.

"That's the place." She doesn't bother to step back, just brushes past him and leaves. She doesn't look back, though her heart is pounding. If that doesn't get him to show up, then nothing will.

* * *

The alley is the kind of dark that encourages liaisons. Soul's familiar with the place, familiar with the type of thing that goes down in dim alleys. He wonders briefly if it's a set up, but Soul can take care of himself, and what better chance is he going to have to get Kitten alone and easily interrogated. He reaches the alley first, despite the fact that he had taken an excessively randomized, meandering route. As far as he can tell, no one followed him from the club, and a thorough check of the alley doesn't reveal any hidden menaces. Soul tugs at his collar and leans back against a reasonably clean portion of brick wall to wait.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait for long. He hears her coming before he sees her, and for a moment, he's in the perfect position to observe her. She does a careful scan of the street around her, looking but not making it obvious to the casual observer. Objectively, Soul is very aware of how cute this girl is. Out of her work pigtails, her ashy blond hair bounces around her shoulders as she walks, and he's hard pressed to not notice the skirt she's wearing just barely peeks out underneath her short trench. She spots him a moment later, and her lips curl into a small smile.

"I wasn't sure you'd show," she says. Soul matches her smile and pushes off of the wall to meet her.

"Hard to refuse a request from a pretty thing like you." She laughs lightly and brushes her hand just under the collar of his overcoat - close but not quite touching the skin of his neck. She's close, as close as she had been in the club, and the dim light does something funny to the green of her eyes.

"Flatterer." Her hand continues to brush against his collar, and he swears that he can almost feel her fingertips against his skin.

"So I've been told." One finger evades the open collar of his shirt entirely, nail scraping lightly along his collarbone, and he has to pull on every ounce of willpower he's developed to not jump at the sensation. Kitten smiles again, and doesn't take her eyes off of his.

"I'm sure. I wanted to thank you, you know. Giriko is not a patient man, or a nice man."

"I had noticed," he says wryly, resisting the urge to brush back an errant lock of hair. "If he's such a creep, why do you go to him?"

"Why do you assume we have a choice?" she replies, and he doesn't have to be observant to know that he's struck a nerve. He knows Giriko is a big-wig in Arachnophobia, but even so, Blair doesn't seem like the type to let him mess with her employees. Which means that he must wield even more power than the FBI had originally thought. Interesting.

He does brush back her hair now, and is rewarded with a startled look.

"You're right, that's a stupid assumption." She shakes her head briefly, as if she's trying to reconcile his words with her expectations.

"You can see maybe why I'd like to thank you?" He grins at her, sharp and rakish.

"It was my pleasure." She laughs again, and it's low and sensuous in his ears.

"I'd like it to be," Kitten rejoins, and Soul is immediately aware of the pressure against his belt buckle and the heat of her palm against his chest where she's managed to completely bypass the barrier of his shirt. She arches against him, and he thumps back against the brick wall. Her fingers are  _fast_ , and she's sliding her other hand into his pants, clever fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers, knuckles brushing against the noticeable bulge of his cock. He exhales noisily.

This is...not what he was anticipating when he agreed to meet with the dangerous waitress, and Soul is having a hard time concentrating on just  _what_ he wanted to accomplish. It's not that he isn't used to advances...he spends a truly disproportionate amount of time in Chupa Cabra's, and he's propositioned frequently.

Never so aggressively, though. Kitten's trench coat is open now, and he can't quite recall when she might have unbuttoned it. Of course, he also doesn't remember her unbuttoning half of his shirt, but there's a brisk breeze across his bare chest that's clashing with the way her palm burns against his skin. A stranger must be in control of his hand because it would be more than foolish to grab her right hip where the waistband of her skirt rides low. But there's soft flesh under his fingertips, and he can feel the curve of her hipbone. She's breathing heavily, and Soul wonders if she's actually as affected by this whole ordeal as he is, or if that wide-eyed wanton stare she keeps giving him is something that she learned for just this purpose. That thought brings him around just long enough for him to pull back slightly.

"Is this strictly pleasure, or business," he asks into her ear. Her breath ghosts along his throat and he swears that he can feel her smile against his skin.

"Is there any reason it can't be a little of both?" She's a tease, brushing her palm against his erection, and in retaliation, he tightens his grip on her hip and drags her against him. His thumb scrapes across the slick pink skin of her scar and she stiffens against him. He rubs the skin, rolls his hips, and traps her hand effectively between them.

"Sounds good to me," Soul agrees, and tries to ignore the warning bell in his head because this woman is  _dangerous_ , if not in the way he originally thought. There is something about her that makes him want to forget that he's Special Agent Soul Evans, that he's undercover and on a mission.

"I was hoping that you'd say that," she murmurs, and there's a cold  _click_ and a weight around his left wrist. Startled, he draws back.

"Hey Kitten, I don't mind the kinky shit, but this isn't really the place, you know?" He says it jokingly, but his mind is racing. This could mean he's in deep shit, and he glances around, certain he's been played and discovered.

The last thing he expects to hear is, "'Eater,' you are under arrest for solicitation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything that you do or say can be used against you in a court of law..." He's more than familiar with his Miranda rights, he's read them out enough.

"Are you shitting me?  _You're_ a cop?" The situation is too ridiculous to cope with, but Kitten is stronger than she looks, and he's too startled to resist when she spins him around presses him into the brick wall. He hisses as his dick, still painfully aroused, bumps against the brick. The pieces that his brain has been collecting and ruminating on for the past few days are starting to fall into place.

"Does it look like I'm shitting you?" she retorts, wrenching his other arm behind him. He feels the cold metal against his other wrist and struggles a little.

"Look, Officer 'Kitten', whoever you are, you've got this all wrong. I'm not some john, I'm Special Agent Soul Evans with the FBI." She does a quick pat-down, never releasing her grip on his cuffs. Soul grimaces. He knows his wallet isn't going to reveal anything, and he had always felt it was courting disaster to even think about keeping his badge in a hidden pocket. Until now, he'd never had a chance to regret it.

"I've got it wrong?  _Really_? Cause it sounded to me like you were buying some quality pleasure time with someone you thought was a prostitute, and I'm not seeing any kind of ID,  _Agent_." Irritated doesn't really cover the fact that he's just been arrested for being propositioned, and that despite everything, he's still got an urgent boner problem, but it's a good place to start.

"Quality? You certainly think highly of yourself, don't you?" He glances over his shoulder as he says it, and she smiles nastily at him, teeth clenched.

"Quality enough to fool your dumb ass."

"Even if I weren't an agent, you'd never have enough to hold me for more than a day or so, and if I  _were_ Arachnophobia, the minute they found out you had me, your cover would be blown, and I'd be out on bail."

"That," she says into his ear, "is where you're wrong. Let's go, lover boy."


	5. Drop It Low Like A Pro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of a beautiful partnership, right? Right.

Chapter 5: Drop It Low Like A Pro

* * *

"He's clear." Kid slaps down a thick file down on her desk, startling her out of her thoughts. She glares at the overflowing file, then up at her boss. He looks exhausted, and for an instant, she feels bad about pulling him out of bed for this. But she's still not been to bed, so she finds she's not _that_  sorry.

" _What_? Are you serious?"

Kid raises an eyebrow at her and adjusts his glasses slightly. "Do you really need to ask me that?"

Maka deflates with her sigh, slumping in her chair. She's missed this-her desk, her chair, the constant low rumble of the bullpen. This early in the morning, it's strangely soothing.

"Sorry," she concedes. "I'm just having a hard time seeing that jacka-" Kid's glare is sharp. She scowls a little. " _Fine._ That  _guy_  as FBI." As low as her opinion of the FBI is, she still can't quite wrap her brain around the  _Eater_  being a fed.

Kid's glare lessens somewhat. "We're not the only ones who run undercover operations, Albarn. And if the FBI is involved, then we know that this Arachnophobia thing is much larger than just Medusa Gorgon."

Maka's guts clench at that because it  _is_  bigger than Medusa, but she can't shake her grudge against the woman. She's a  _copkiller_ , regardless of whether or not she pulled the trigger herself, and it doesn't matter what organization she works for-that has to count for something.

Kid's hand on her shoulder is awkward, but she knows that it's meant to be comforting. He pats her shoulder stiffly.

"We  _will_  get her, Albarn. That particular priority hasn't changed." Something in his wording makes her sit up a little straighter.

She narrows her eyes, suspicious. "Wait, what?"

"What what?" Kid's eyes dart away for a split second to stare at the file he'd tossed onto her desk before meeting her glare.

Maka grabs the folder and flips it open. "What priority  _has_  changed, Captain?" Her eyes immediately gravitate towards a tacked-on addendum. Kid looks just about everywhere but at his finest detective.

Her booted foot rhythmically taps against the ancient wood floor, and for a moment, Kid considers letting Maka know that her skirt is riding up, but that would be distracting her, and he can tell when she's riding on the slippery edge of anger. Anything could send her hurtling over, and while he might be the boss, Albarn pissed is a headache he doesn't want to deal with if it can be avoided. She closes the folder and sets it gently on the desk. Kid feels his shoulders tense.

"You  _cannot_ be serious."

Even her foot has stopped tapping, he notes. "I believe I've already mentioned the likelihood that I would be lying to you."

"This is absurd, Kid!" His jaw tenses along with his shoulders. Maka Albarn is his best detective, yes, but she is also his most volatile by far, and that comes with a price.

"That's  _Captain_."

She's standing now, face reddening rapidly. "I don't care! I've got this under control, and there is  _no_  reason that I need to work with that slimy piece of-"

" _Maka_."

"-shit  _FED_."

" _Detective Albarn._ " Maka freezes. Her boss barely raises his voice, but his tone is granite, knuckles white, eyes hard behind slipping glasses frames. "Even if this was up for discussion,  _which it is not_ , this is neither the time, nor the place." He turns, the motion sharp. "You will follow me.  _Now._ "

Gingerly, she picks up the folder on her desk. She's pushed too far, lost in her frustration and anger with the albino shark. When he opens the door to interrogation, she knows that she's really in for it. She goes inside at his gesture and tries not to drag her feet.

"Now just... _stay_ ," he commands, and slams the door after her. She winces, but settles into the chair that she normally conducts her interrogations in. She can have that at least when Kid comes back in to rip her a new one. Maka lets out a sigh and grabs the folder again, propping her feet up on the table. She might as well be comfortable while she waits.

The folder doesn't give her much more than she already knows, aside from some basic information about Special Agent Soul "the Eater" Evans. She smirks when she reads it...she'd at least gotten his height and weight right, if not his age. There's not much else there, aside from his credentials, which, if she feels like being honest (she doesn't), are reasonably impressive. Evans isn't as much of a slouch as he likes to portray. That does not, however, mean she's happy about the little addendum to her assignment. She hears the door to interrogation open, but doesn't bother to look.

"So, what? Garter belts and fishnets are standard issue now?"

She whips her head around and stares, stuck between flabbergasted and enraged; really, she could learn to hate that voice. His distinctive hair is still mostly hidden under that driving cap, and he leans arrogantly in the doorway. Maka wants to arrest him all over again, maybe for having the collar on his button down popped, or maybe just for continuing to stare at her legs. She settles for remaining seated and glaring up at him as disdainfully as she can. She refuses to tug the hem down on her skirt. If he's going to insult her, she will refuse to be insulted, and he can deal with a little extra skin.

"I'm sorry if some of us have to  _work_  when we go undercover, instead of just jacking it nightly at a strip club on the government's dime." She says it sweetly, but Soul's familiar with that honey-sharp tongue already.

"Is that any way to treat your new partner?"

"It's going to be a cold day in hell before I work with you, Evans."

"Then you'd best put your winter coat on, Albarn." Kid pushes past Soul, his mouth and shoulders set in a way that Maka recognizes doesn't bode well for her. He sits across from her at the table and barks, "Evans, come in and shut the door."

Soul unfolds himself from the doorway and does as he's told, reluctantly taking the chair next to Maka.

It is, Kid thinks, staring at identical expressions of cold disinterest, as though he is dealing with two petulant children and not two law enforcement professionals. "I know that neither of you are particularly pleased with the idea that you're going to be working together. Let me go ahead and get one thing straight.  _I don't care_." Soul's mouth opens and he sits a little straighter. Kid heads him off at the pass. "Neither does  _your_  boss, Evans." His mouth snaps shut and he slumps back down in his chair, hands shoved in his pockets. Kid opens the folder that Maka had brought in. "I highly doubt either of you bothered to do more than scan this, but if you  _had_ , you'd know that it's got information on the both of you in here, as well as what you've both managed to uncover so far in Arachnophobia."

It's Maka's turn to sit up a little straighter. She hadn't read through the whole thing, though to be fair, she hadn't really had the time, and her brain had been too focused on her new directive.

"Between the two of you, there is a good amount of information here. The problem is," Kid continues, catching both of their gazes, "there just isn't _enough_. Until now, you've been gathering information for two different objectives. Now, you are going to focus on one objective-take out Medusa Gorgon."

Maka doesn't fly from her chair and engage in her victory dance, but it's a very near thing. She settles on the biggest smirk she can manage and a sidelong glance at Soul. He's scowling, but nods his assent.

"And once you complete this assignment, you will both turn your skills towards giving the FBI what they need to take down Arachnophobia."

Maka's eyes widen. "That could take  _years_!"

"It's already taken me a year to get this far into the organization," Soul mutters. He's not exactly enthralled with the idea of being stuck with this brash, irritating detective for longer than necessary, no matter how enticing her damn legs are in those fishnets.

"I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Evans, Abarn. Medusa is a big-name player in Arachnophobia. Once you two have eliminated her from the equation, it won't take much more to wrap up the rest of the organization."

Soul straightens in his chair and looks skeptical. "Arachnophobia is a  _very_  extensive organization-much more so than the FBI had initially thought. Does your  _report_  mention that?"

Across from them, Kid nudges up his glasses. "The report is very thorough. It has been taken into account, I can assure you. I can also assure you that this is not something you two are going to get out of. You've both invested too much time and energy for us to risk pulling you out and replacing you with new operatives. Especially you, Evans."

Soul nods; he knows. He's been living this mission for a year. Red eyes dart to the side and he attempts to assess his "partner."

It's easier to understand the enigma of "Kitten" now that he sees her in what is clearly her natural environment-the abrasiveness that he had seen before is amplified, her arms are crossed over her chest, legs crossed at the knee, feet still propped up on the table defiantly. He wonders if she realizes that by crossing her arms she's just highlighting her tits. Soul decides to not mention it. He admires her spirit and her spunk, but doesn't like the idea that he's going to be partnered with someone who would risk her mission just to arrest him out of petty spite.

He says as much out loud, and watches her face turn a belligerent red. She finally swings her legs off the table to face him, and Kid sublimates the mortification of getting flashed by his subordinate admirably. Soul just smirks. "Are  _those_  standard issue too, or did you buy them yourself?"

She's going to punch him in the face. She is going to punch him in his smarmy face and break that aristocratic nose.

" _Those_  are none of your goddamned business. And you know what? If I had to do it again, I  _would_  do something different."

"Would you, really?"

She sneers. "Yeah, I would have been a  _lot_  rougher."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Oh,  _baby_ , you know just what I like."

Kid doesn't think Maka's face can get any more red without actively bursting a few blood vessels. He gets ready to restrain her if she goes after Soul, but just as suddenly, she relaxes and leans forward, elbows on her knees.

"Evans, you can only  _dream_."

Soul scowls. The problem, he thinks, is that he might do just that.

Kid can feel the muscles in his shoulders relaxing marginally as he stands. He leaves the contentious folder on the table.

"You two need to get your act together. Literally  _and_  figuratively. You  _will_  be working together, so you might as well learn to deal with each other. Your first assignment," he says, rapping on the door, "will be to work out where to go from here." The door swings open and Kid steps out with a wave and a reasonably cheery, "Knock when you're done."

The door slams with a sort of morbid finality and for a moment, they stare at each other with identical expressions of horror and distaste. Maka could be amused by the fact that Soul looks like a poleaxed mutt, but she's much too concerned with the fact that she is as stuck with him as he is with her.

"Well," she begins.

He shakes his head roughly, snapping out of his stunned stupor. "Yeah, ok. First things first." Maka seethes at being interrupted, but bites her tongue for the time being. " _You_  arrested me. Where do we go from there?"

"First things first," she mocks. "No one  _saw_  me arresting you, did they? Unless you let yourself be followed from the club."

He sneers a little. "Of course no one saw me. Like I would let myself be followed."

Maka's lips curl upwards in a smile that that Soul is starting to realize makes him very wary and more than a little nervous. "Of  _course_ not. Except that  _I_ followed you."

Soul stiffens in his chair and stares at her."The hell you did, I was watching-" Maka leans back and returns her feet to their rightful place on top of the table.

"Apparently, you weren't watching well enough. You took a longer route, I imagine trying to throw anyone following you off your trail-you went up 9th and across Jules Ave, then took the footbridge across-"

"Yeah, ok. I get it, you trailed me." It's hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. He's a skilled agent, one of the top in his field, and he managed to let himself be trailed by a city detective-it stings, and it doesn't help that Maka looks entirely too pleased with herself about the whole matter.

As much as she does enjoy feeling like she was justified in arresting Soul the creeper, Maka also resigns herself to the fact that they've got to work together, and she's probably not making matters better by being the same kind of smug asshole as  _he_  is. She takes a deep breath.

"I did it mostly because if someone was going to tail you, I wanted it to be me. I couldn't risk exposure at the club, and you seemed to have a particular interest in me."

This grabs his attention. "You're telling me that I seemed to have more of an interest in you than say, Giriko?" Even the sound of his name sends a wave of distaste through her. She shifts in her chair.

"Let's just say that I never had a problem defining just what  _kind_  of interest Giriko had in me, or in any of the girls. And he didn't really bother with me more than anyone else until after he put Cherry in the hospital."

Soul's eyebrows raise at this news. "Cherry's in the hospital? I didn't know."

Maka ignores him, " _You_ , however, took an interest in me out of nowhere, and didn't seem immediately concerned with getting into my skirt." She grins a little, and Soul is surprised to see the expression untinged by malice. He might also debate that comment, but he isn't about to say that out loud-not while she's making a concentrated effort to be helpful. "You can understand why that might make an undercover cop working in a strip joint a  _little_ nervous."

"And you needed me out of the way before I got too interested?" She nods, and as swiftly as it came, the grin was gone. "Arresting me was risky, you know."

"I don't exactly have a lot of options, here. I've got a little bit of inside help from the dancers, and they're tough girls, but they're still civvies, and I can't risk them being found out any more than I can risk myself being found out." She lets out a heavy sigh and stretches a bit. It's been a long night. She shoots him another smile, and he blinks, hoping she doesn't notice the fact that he was staring a little. "Arresting you was risky, true, but I think the Captain could have done enough to keep you out of the way and keep my cover intact."

Soul leans forward suddenly, and she's startled by the intensity of his stare, unable to look away."Are you  _serious_?  _That_ was your plan? Are you insane?"

All trace of friendliness vanish from her at his tone. "I told you, I have limited resources. I did what I could."

"Do you have any idea what could have happened?"

Maka grits her teeth. "Of course I do! Like I haven't run through all the scenarios a hundred times-what happens when some asshole like you finds me out and then I'm dead in an alley and my contacts are dead in a dumpster?"

"What about the one where you arrest me and I'm not a federal agent, I'm an actual Arachnophobia member and I've got contacts  _everywhere_. Because that's how they work,  _Albarn_. Arachnophobia is everywhere, even probably in your precious police department, and I can guarantee you that I would have been out within the week, no matter what you thought you had on me." He's not yelling, but he's close to her face as he lays it out for her, and it feels like she's been slapped.

She didn't think of the fact that Arachnophobia was such a widespread organization-it was one of the things that Soul was working against, but she's been so focused on finding and nailing down Medusa that she hadn't considered Arachnophobia as a whole-a grave and potentially fatal mistake.

She clenches her jaw, frustrated and enraged with herself for being so stupid, for putting the lives of her informants in danger. Soul is momentarily taken aback by the fierce glare that she levels at him-hard green eyes and a scowl that could strip paint. There is a part of her that feels like she should apologize, but she can't make her mouth form the words-not to  _him_. So she glares and he scowls back.

Maka takes a small measure of satisfaction from the fact that Soul is the first one to withdraw.

"Any suggestions for how to handle this when we leave?"

Soul recognizes that that is going to be as close to an apology or acknowledgement of her mistakes as he's going to get for now. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. Truth be told, he's struggling to come up with a solution that won't be incredibly distasteful to the both of them.

Maka bounces her leg-whether unconsciously or as a sign of bottled up energy, he's not sure-but it gives him a faint idea regardless. Even if it's one he's not terrifically fond of.

"You're not going to like it," he prefaces, and she turns her head to look at him, eyebrow raised.

"We're dating," he says, and is completely unsurprised at the way her mouth twists in disgust. "Yeah, I know, I'm not really a fan of it myself." As far as he's concerned, Maka Albarn is a menace, and he can't fathom how anyone would consider dating her, no matter how hot her ass looks in that skirt.

"So we're...dating," she doesn't spit the word out, much. "How do you explain us coming out of the police department if someone were to find out about this little foray?" He grins, teeth sharp. It's  _obnoxious_ , she notes.

"Easy. We were groping in the alley, and  _you_  got picked up for hooking." He expects her temper, but not how explosively  _violent_  it is. She's out of her chair in a flash, quicker than he would have anticipated her to be able to move. The chair crashes into the floor, and the heavy metal table skids back several inches.

" _What_?" she hisses, and it's his turn to lean back in his chair and prop his feet up on the table. In a way, he finds, it's kind of fun to see this dainty-looking creature flip her shit, and really can't resist baiting her.

"They thought you were hooking," he repeats it slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. "You know, prostituting yourself? Giving it up for cash? Working the corner, world's oldest profession? With you dressed the way that you are, I don't think it's going to be much of a stretch for someone to believe you'd be turning tricks in an alley." He is strangely delighted at the way her face begins to take on a purple-hue-right up until she snatches the thick file from the table, rolls it up, and pops him one good on the back of the head. " _Jesus fuck_ , woman! What the hell was that for?"

"That's for you being a fucking  _dick_  is what that's for."

"I told you you weren't going to like it! Fair warning was given, you can't fucking hit me for that."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I already did. What are  _you_  going to do about it?"

He stands and faces her, scowling. He's got several inches on her, and has absolutely no compunctions about looming over her to get her to back down. Except that she doesn't, and she meets his eyes with a fierce, unwavering stare, even going so far as to step closer. She has to crane her neck a little to maintain eye contact, but she doesn't waver.

Soul's head still smarts from where she whacked him. Maka is as infuriating as she is confusing, but he can't help but admire the way she will not be intimidated by him, even if it is rapidly becoming apparent to him that her stubbornness is going to get her killed one day. If she's the best Death City PD can produce, he finds it a wonder that they can even function as a police squad. Still...he had been more crude than was strictly necessary (even if it isn't his fault she looked like a hooker). He sighs. He will be the big man.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

For a long moment, she looks at him suspiciously, and he looks back at her as sincerely as he can manage. He does  _not_  look at her tits which are once again highlighted prominently and practically smashed against his chest. Ok, he might look a little, but Soul is reasonably sure that he does it quickly enough she doesn't notice.

Maka nods once, decisively. "Apology accepted. I am...sorry," it sounds like she's having to force the word out, "that I hit you."  _Mostly_ , she adds silently. "So, we're...dating."

He grins at her. "Well, as much as a mobster and a waitress from a strip club can be said to be dating." She does not like this, not one bit, but she has to admit that it makes a strange amount of sense. Objectively, she can see the value in the ruse-she will be able to talk with Soul and compare notes and observations without suspicion, which is more than she can say for how she's delivering reports now. And she can't deny that having another trained set of eyes will be useful.

"It does help that you've been showing a lot of interest in me lately," she acknowledges wryly. Soul nods, grin widening a bit. It showed off his teeth, she noted.

"While I can safely say this isn't anything like what I had originally intended, it certainly could have worked out worse."

She finds herself nodding in agreement. "I'll let my sources know that we're, ah,  _seeing_  each other. That should help legitimize things."

"Good."

"Yeah." They're still ridiculously close, she finally notices, trying to figure out the best way to back off without seeming like she's backing down. She uncrosses her arms and tries not to brush against him. Soul, it seems, realizes the same thing, and slowly his posture relaxes until he's back to his ruffian slouch. Maka shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and rocks back a little.

The tableau is broken, and she moves back to the table and the discarded folder. "We should set down some guidelines," she says. Soul raises an eyebrow, but sits back down at the table.

"What do you propose?"

"First. Names. You can call me Honey or Kitten, but not Maka-unless we're alone."

He nods. "You can still call me Soul."

She looks confused for a moment. "I thought you went by 'Eater' in Arachnophobia?"

He flashes his teeth at her, very deliberately. "They call me Soul Eater. Or just the Eater. Whichever  _you_  prefer."

Maka rolls her eyes. " _Really_. Wow, ok. That is corny as fuck." He looks marginally offended, and she likes that look on him.

"There isn't anything wrong with my name," he defends. She's smirking at him again.

"Not  _wrong_ , no. Just...it's a little overly dramatic, don't you think?"

He doesn't huff, but it's a pretty close call. "No I don't think it's overly dramatic and no one asked you, anyway,  _Kitten_."

She glares at him a little. "I did  _not_  pick that name."

Soul shrugs. "What about contact?" She removes one of her hands from her trench, clutching a phone.

She fiddles with it for a second, then without looking up, says,

"Go for it." He rattles off his number, and she taps it in, then returns with hers. It's in his phone in a flash, and for a moment, Soul looks up to find her eyes on him. "What else?"

He taps his chin with one long finger for a moment. "Where do you live?" She tenses a little, but gives him the address. Soul looks startled. "Seriously? That's not far from where I'm at." Maka's lips twist. It's going to make things easier for work, but she's not sure that she likes knowing that Soul is closer to her apartment than she'd anticipated.

"Where do we go from here?" she asks.

"Let's get your boss. I think I'm ready to go home," he says with a quirk of his lips. Maka returns the gesture.

"I think between the two of us we ought to be able to convince the Captain that we're good to go." She strides to the door and gives it a couple of sharp raps. " _CAPTAIN. CAAAAAAAPTAIN_!" From his seat, Soul winces at the sheer volume she can manage. He wouldn't have suspected her of having the lung capacity. She pounds on the door again, enthusiastically.

She's just about to starting yelling again when Kid opens the door. He looks frazzled and twitchy. Maka lowers her fist and says sweetly,

"We've come to an arrangement."

Kid glares at her and shoves his glasses back up. From his seat, Soul smirks.

"That's fantastic. Was the screaming really necessary?"

"I know it's awfully early for you, boss. Just wanted to make sure that you weren't napping." Kid's glare is fierce, but Maka remains undaunted. He's given her worse, and she's long passed tired. She wants to move past him and get the hell out of the station, but her boss has known her for far too long at this stage, and he continues to linger in the doorway.

"Mm. How  _thoughtful_. And what is your arrangement?"

She doesn't want to say. If there's even the slightest chance that this could get out, she'll never hear the end of it from her coworkers. It'll be bad enough if any of them find out that she's undercover at a strip club, even if she isn't technically a stripper.

Behind her, she can hear the slow, grating scrape of chair against floor, and before she can react, there's a long, heavy arm across her shoulders, pulling her close.

His smooth jazz voice is next to her ear, as he says, "Why, this is Kitten, my new lady."


	6. Got the Most not the Lesser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing pains.

Chapter 6- Got The Most, Not The Lesser

* * *

The sun rising over the city is much less enchanting and relaxing when it's directly in her eyes, and not even the coffee they grabbed several blocks ago is keeping her fully conscious.

There's also the small matter of FBI agent Soul Evans, whom she is still of a mind to maim heartily. She's having a hard time getting rid of the feeling of his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his voice in her ear-not to mention the seething embarrassment of his declaration and the look on her boss's face as he tried to stifle his chuckles. Storming out of the station proved futile. He just followed her.

"We've  _got_  to set some boundaries," she says between bites of her bagel; it's helping about as much as the coffee. Soul shrugs, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He keeps eyeballing her bagel and she shoots him a glare.

"If you can't handle casual gestures of affection without warning, then we might have some bigger problems," he points out. She scowls and tears another bite out of her bagel half.

"It's not that I mind the 'gestures of affection,' I just wasn't ready then.  _And_  I think that we need to set some more boundaries."

Soul shrugs. "Did you have something in particular in mind? I thought that we had covered the pertinent bases."

"Clearly not all of them. For instance-gestures of affection are strictly limited to when we're in the presence of people who think we're dating."

"What," he sneers a little. "Afraid you're going to like it?"

She scoffs. " _Hardly_. I just think that we need to have appropriate work and  _work_  boundaries." Soul shrugs. The sheer stubbornness of this woman will never cease to amaze him.

"We also need to make sure that our relationship doesn't look strained or forced." He points it out mildly, and she has to acknowledge that he has a point.

"All right. In public is fine as well, I guess. Just, not too-" she's cut off as he grins at her.

"Good, I was hoping you'd say that." Quick as a snake, he leans over and takes a nice huge bite out of the bagel that he's been eyeballing for the last block or two. She stops, mouth agape, eyes wide.

"Wha- _Soul_! That was my bagel!"

He chews thoughtfully. "But that's part of dating, right?"

"The hell it is! New boundary!  _No food stealing_."

He swallows, throat bobbing. "Clearly, you've never dated. Food stealing is an integral part of any relationship." She gets redder as he talks, teeth clicking together audibly as she shuts her mouth.

"That is none of your goddamn business and keep the hell away from my bagel, miscreant!" He shoves his hands back in his pockets and just laughs at her.

"Whatever you say,  _Kitten_."

She spends the rest of the walk to her apartment alternately finishing her bagel and sneaking looks at Soul-to guard against further bagel intrusion, of course.

"Is this it?" he asks when she finally slows.

"Home sweet home," she agrees. She wants to retreat to her apartment and her bed, even if it's just for a few hours, but there's still at least one thing left to work out. "There's one more thing," she begins. Soul raises an eyebrow at her. "We need to establish a rendezvous point."

He nods and considers their options. There aren't many. Certainly not the club. The police station is just as off-limits.

"We could use a restaurant or a coffee shop," she suggests, but Soul can tell from her face that it's a last ditch sort of effort.

"I don't think that's going to work." He moves in a little closer. "There's too much of a chance that we could be overheard. Which leaves-"

"My place or yours," Maka finishes.

"Do you live alone?"

She shakes her head. "What, in this city on a detective's salary? No, I've got a roommate,  _and_  she's fully aware of my job and what it entails.  _All_ aspects of it." Soul wants to scowl at her-how is that even remotely a good idea? The FBI agent in Soul is shocked that she hasn't gotten herself or others killed before now.

It's an admirable act of restraint as far as he's concerned that he keeps his mouth shut on the matter. He lets out a hefty sigh.

"I guess that leaves my place. You've got my address and number?" She nods. "Good. Drop by before you go to work tonight?"

Maka wants to say no, she really does. All she wants to do is sleep until she absolutely has to get up. But they'll need to come up with a better gameplan than their addled brains can formulate now.

"Alright," she says. "I can do that." Soul eases back.

"Ok then."

"Right." Her keys jangle loudly in the morning air. "I'll see you later tonight." She moves to open the door to her walkup when Soul grabs her elbow.

"Be careful, yeah?" She wants to bristle at the implication that she needs to be told to be cautious, but he's got a surprisingly earnest face on, and she decides that she'll let it slide. She smiles at him instead.

"Yeah, yeah. I will."

Soul returns her smile. "Cool." With that, he turns and continues down the street. He looks strange and solitary walking down her sidewalk, early sunlight soaking into the edges of his white hair.

"Hey!" she calls out. "You too, ok?" She doesn't see the grin that stretches across his face, just the casual wave of acknowledgement. Maka huffs and rolls her eyes. "I bet he thinks that's real smooth," she mutters. "He is  _not_  as suave as he thinks he is."

She doesn't bother with much of anything when she gets inside. Tsubaki's door is shut, and Maka pauses long enough to drop her purse and kick off her shoes. One lands perilously close to the television, but she just shuffles into her bedroom and flops onto her bed. Sleep isn't far behind.

* * *

The insistent pounding on his door manages to permeate his consciousness, and the first thing that Soul realizes is that he's overslept, followed by the fact that he clearly fell asleep on the futon masquerading as a couch again. His neck and shoulders are killing him, and the asshole who won't stop knocking on the door isn't helping his burgeoning headache. Soul trudges to the door and throws it open with a growl.

" _What_?"

Maka blinks back at him, hand raised to knock again. He's still half asleep and lets his eyes roam over her body-from the tight t-shirt to the short-shorts over striped tights to those increasingly familiar combat boots.

"You asked me to meet you over here," she says, keeping her eyes focused on his and her voice level. "Here I am." He scrubs a hand over his face, runs fingers through tousled hair.

"Yeah, I did. Sorry about that." He steps aside and gestures her inside. "Can I get you some coffee or something?"

"Mm, yeah. That'd be great." Maka takes in the rumpled futon cover and the nearly muted TV and tries not to think about how  _good_  the Albino Shark looks shirtless and sleepy. A few crashes and muffled curses later, Soul's got a pot of coffee on in his tiny kitchenette. Aside from the microwave and the hot plate, it's about the only appliance he owns. Maka stands awkwardly just in the door and as focused as he is on the idea of getting coffee, it takes him a minute to notice.

"Ah, you can have a seat if you want, as long as you don't mind the futon." She does so, and proceeds to pull out the notes that she's made over the past couple of weeks. She can hear the pot stop its belabored brewing and calls out,

"Milk, two sugars, please." A moment later, she's presented with a steaming mug, which she takes gratefully.

"Hope you don't mind creamer instead of milk. I kinda haven't been to the grocery store in, ahhh. Well, I think my cheese has gained sentience, so it's been a while. Or maybe that used to be the milk. It's hard to say."

Maka grins at him. "It's fine; I know how that goes."

Soul returns her smile and plops down on the other end of the futon. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find time to be a mobster  _and_  go to the store."

"I think I've got a pretty decent idea. You learn to eat a lot of take out."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I got all the local Asian places on speed dial." Maka chuckles at that, and sips her coffee. It's surprisingly good, which she finds at odds with the messy, somewhat dilapidated bachelor's pad Soul inhabits. "All right, so what have we got?" He leans over, and Maka spreads out her notes. "Jesus. Do you seriously keep all this shit by hand? Haven't you ever heard of a computer?"

Maka sniffs. "Of course I have, asshole. And if someone's going to bother to find where I live and break into my apartment, they're going to search my computer first, and they're not going to find anything. And if by some miracle they have time to look through my things and find my hiding place, they're going to find coded notebooks that are going to take them weeks to break." Soul peers closer at her neat, uniform handwriting. What had seemed from a distance like regular words refused to resolve into anything approaching readable as he stared at it.

"Hm. That's pretty smart, Kitten." She shoots him a glare; he just bares his teeth in a grin.

"Of course it is. Now, are you done?" she asks sourly. He waves a hand for her to go on. "What I've got is a lot of names, faces, and habits. What I need more on is how they're connected and how we can use them, if we can."

"Right. Let's start with names, and I can give you what, if anything, I have."

They spend a few hours poring over her casebooks. Despite the fact that he seemed entirely uninclined to put on a shirt, Soul has a lot of pertinent information to add to her files, and she jots it all down diligently, making notes in the margin occasionally for things she wants to come back to. She's intent on her writing enough that she doesn't notice her mug is empty until Soul interjects,

"Refill?"

"Mm?" She looks up, startled. "Ah, yes, please." She's back to scratching away with her pen before he can peel himself off the futon with their mugs. It's nice in a strange sort of way, having another person in his apartment. At least, another person that he can marginally relax with. Even if he didn't have to hide who he was from Back*Star, there was no such thing as relaxing around that guy. He pours out the last of the coffee in their mugs, and by the time he gets back to the futon, she's finished writing.

He'd be lying if he said that the way she chews on the end of her pen or the way she keeps bouncing her crossed leg isn't intensely distracting. He narrowed his eyes...was that...? Soul can definitely make out a slowly widening strip of creamy thigh peeking out between the bottom of her shorts and what he had taken for tights in his post-sleep haze. Distracted doesn't really cover dealing with this woman, but he tamps down on his more base urges. It isn't as though this is the first time that he's chosen work over pleasure. They have a job to do, and that, as ever, comes first.

"Here you go."

"Mm, thanks." Maka cradles the mug and stares at her notes thoughtfully. "I think we've got a lot of useful stuff in here."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Just gotta put it all together." Next to him, Maka's stomach gurgles automatically. "Hungry?"

She gives him a wry little smile, "I think my stomach has finally realized that coffee is not, in fact, food." He raises an eyebrow and grins. He likes the fact that she doesn't flush or seem embarrassed.

"Should I pull up my speed dial?"

"Ung, yes. I could kill all of the pork fried rice."

Soul pulls out his phone, but can't resist the jab. "You sure about that? Should I get you a kid's portion, Tiny-tits?"

Maka sneers delicately and ignores the slight against her chest. "Bitch, please. I can out-eat you any day of the week.  _And_  retain my girlish figure." She reaches out and prods him in the abdomen, resolutely ignoring the way that his muscles tense up under her finger. "Unlike  _some_  people. Careful there, chubs. Maybe you oughta get yourself a salad."

Soul scowls and tries not to reflexively suck his stomach in. "That is not  _fat_ , that is  _muscle_."

Maka just gives him that viciously sweet smile he's beginning to get used to. " _Mmhm_. Just sayin' you might want to lay off the sweet n' sour, Agent Tubs." He grumbles, but hits the speed dial anyway.

* * *

He gets sweet n' sour chicken just to spite her. They don't exactly partake in a race to see who can eat the fastest or the most, because that would be completely childish and below their dignities as civil servants and instruments of the law. He finishes the last of his rice as she is still shoveling hers in with chopsticks.

" _Ahhh_ , done." He leans back, take out container abandoned and empty on the coffee table. She struggles with the last few bits of rice and shoots him a glare.

"Well then. I can certainly see why they call you 'The Eater,' Special Agent Muffin Top." She sets her own container down with the satisfaction of a burn well-delivered. Except that Soul doesn't seem terribly upset by her declaration. Instead, he's leaning in, arm casually thrown over the back of the futon.

"Oh, baby, I can assure you that's  _not_  why they call me 'The Eater'." He licks his lips and looks at her like she's dessert, and Maka can feel the breath in her lungs dry up. He stretches a hand up and out, and she can feel the heat radiating off his body. Warm fingertips reach for her face and her lungs start to work again as she grabs his wrist and twists, pulling him forward, over her lap.

Soul finds himself wedged between the futon and the coffee table, gasping for breath, and staring up into angry green eyes. His hip aches where it slammed into the edge of the table.

" _Oww_. What the fuck was that for?"

Maka crosses her arms. "Boundaries," she states, and wonders if maybe her reaction was perhaps a little excessive. Soul props himself up and glares at her.

"You have  _got_  to work on that. What are you going to do, pull a gun on me if I try and kiss you in public?  _Oh_ , I know! Maybe you can handcuff me again next time I try and touch you."

"Maybe I will if it will make you remember the boundaries we set for when we're not in public!"

"It was just a grain of  _rice_ , Albarn. I was trying to be helpful." The veracity of his words is dubious at best. He had wanted to get a rise out of her, but not like this. "You know, it's no wonder you stood out like a sore thumb at Chupa Cabra's! One minute you're fine and the next, you're shooting innocent customers death glares and hate rays. It's a fucking miracle you've remained undercover this long!" She stands, face like thunder, and for a moment, reclining on the floor, Soul is struck by the hurt in her eyes. But it's gone almost before he can register it.

His words sting, but it isn't as though it's the first time she's been told that she blows hot and cold.  _Cold fish_ ,  _tease_ -there is a reason that she hasn't bothered with dating in years. Her lips curl into a sneer.

"I stood out like a sore thumb?  _Really_? Well, I must have been doing something right, because I seem to recall that you didn't have a problem popping a boner for the new girl,  _handsome_." Beneath her, he flushes.

"Well, what do you expect? You're hot and you were in my lap in that tiny skirt and oh yeah,  _I thought you were a stripper_."

They stare at each other for a minute, faces red from a combination of yelling and embarrassment. Maka's brain is still attempting to process Soul's admission.

She takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. She hates admitting it, even to herself, but Soul is right. She will get their cover blown and get them killed if can't handle the physical aspect of this assignment.

"I'm sorry," she says, and it comes a little easier to her lips than it did the night before. "I will make an effort to not...overreact." Soul nods.

"I will try to keep the sudden moves to a minimum," he concedes. Maka holds her hand out, and he grabs it. This time when she tugs on his wrist, it's to pull him to his feet. Soul tilts his head to the side and stares for a moment. "You ah...still have that rice on your face. May I?"

Her shoulders tense, but she nods. Soul's fingertips are just as warm as she thought they might be, and they graze over her chin and the corner of her mouth brusquely, but still gently. She doesn't breathe as he gives her a crooked smile. "That wasn't so bad, huh?"

* * *

"I'll be along after I meet up with Black*Star." He says it casually, as if this is a thing that they have been doing for months now and not for less than a day. She stands in the hallway, feeling a little out of sorts. Her casebooks are hidden in a cabinet behind a pile of half empty cereal boxes, and she feels strangely naked knowing that they're here, and not in their usual place at home. He leans against the doorframe, hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jeans.

"Right, sounds good." She turns to go. "I'll see you later, then."

"Wait." Maka pauses at his voice and glances over her shoulder. Soul steps away from the doorway, and then he's there, right behind her, in her space again. She freezes and tries not to flinch away from his sudden proximity; she  _will_  get better at this.

"Yes?" She steadies her breathing with conscious effort.

"I will be touching you," he says, and his voice is low in her ear. She wants to push him away, and tell him the hell he will, but he's right. They've got to sell their relationship, and she will not be the one to fuck this up.

"I know. Thanks for the heads-up," she whispers back. He nods.

"This is just another part of being good at your job."

She shoots him a small smile and snorts lightly. "I'll try and keep that in mind." And with that, she's off and down the stairs, and Soul is stuck watching her go. He's still not sure what to make of this woman. Watching her go through her notes, listening to her observations and grilling her on her system-she's smart. Scary smart, if he's being honest with himself. She's still reckless and impulsive, though. Maybe it's the contrast of her brains and her sheer disregard for danger or consequences that has him so confused.

Soul shakes his head and heads back inside. Only time will tell if she'll end up getting them dead.

* * *

He's just stepped out of the shower when he hears pounding on his door again. At this rate, he worries less about his landlord kicking him out for the noise, and more about his door not lasting in the face of all this abuse.

"Hold the fuck on!" He slings on pants and works on putting on a shirt as he makes his way to the door.

"Jesus, dude. What took you so long?" Black*Star is impatient as ever, and doesn't bother to wait for Soul's response before inviting himself in.

"I was in the shower, jerk-off." Black*Star takes note of his hair, still dripping water and guffaws.

"I don't think I'm the jerk-off here, dude. Playin' a little one-handed wonder?" The last thing Soul would ever admit was how close to accurate Black*Star was. Instead, he scoffs loudly.

"Pfft.  _Please_. Why do you think I was showering so late?" Black*Star grabs a Gatorade out of Soul's minifridge.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know? I don't need insight into your personal habits, bro."

"I had more important shit to do. Like the chick I had over."

Black*Star stops at this. "What, here? For real? I didn't think you took girls home."

Soul smirks. "All depends on the girl."

"Was it, aaaaaaah what's-her-fuck, the redhead?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Try a much harder piece of ass to get." Black*Star laughs and takes another chug of his stolen drink.

"What, you finally tap that new girl?" He takes one look at Soul's smug face. " _No shit_. I thought she was untappable." He holds his hand up, and Soul slaps it.

"That's just because you don't have my mad skills."

"Man, whatever. The great Black*Star has many skills and many conquests. You can have the skinny  _waitress_. I've got my eyes on a bigger prize."

"Uh-huh. Another stripper?" For the first time in the year that Soul's known Black*Star, he watches the blue-haired mobster flush with something other than anger.

"She's...not like that," he mumbles. "And it's none of your goddamned business." Black*Star knocks back the rest of the Gatorade and flings the bottle in the direction of the trash. "Look, you ready to go or what, lover boy? We got shit to do."

"What, aside from go to Chupa Cabra's?"

"Yeah, orders from higher up. Let's goooo."

This is news to Soul, but he merely shrugs and pulls on his jacket. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

* * *

The errand, as it turns out, is less an errand, and more a pickup and delivery situation. Soul doesn't like the look of the place, but that's turning out to be an occupational hazard these days. He takes the piece that Black*Star hands him with a raised eyebrow.

"Eh, you're probably not gonna need that, but never hurts to be careful, yeah?"

"What about you," Soul asks. Black*Star laughs.

"Me? I got all the guns I need right here." He flexes his arms dramatically.

Soul snorts. "Yeah, ok, man. Whatever you say."

"Besides, that's what  _you're_  here for."

"Yeah, yeah. We going or what?" They slip out of the Black*Star Mobile and head towards the warehouse, both on the alert. It's dark and quiet, which puts Soul on edge. He knows from experience that this is the kind of scenario that goes south quick.

Black*Star either doesn't feel it, or completely ignores the feeling in the air. "Yo!" he calls out, voice like a shot in the dilapidated warehouse. Soul winces and hangs back a little.

"You here for the package?" A shadow detaches itself from the darkness and comes forward. Soul is liking this less and less.

"Like I'd be in a place like this otherwise. Let's see what you got." From his vantage point a couple of yards away, Soul hears a crate open, and he hears the sound of a wad of bills being thumbed through, and wonders, not for the first time, just what's in the package they're picking up. "Jesus. All right. Eater, let's go."

The dealer is already gone by the time he crosses the short distance to Black*Star. The package, as it turns out, is much larger and heavier than what he'd been anticipating.

"Goddamn. What the hell is this?"

Black*Star just grunts. "Doesn't matter, yeah? Just help me get the damned thing to the car." They're so intent on getting the crate maneuvered, that Soul doesn't notice that they're not alone until it's too late.

"Drop the package, dickwads." There's cold steel pressed against the back of his neck and Soul wants to kick himself for not keeping a better eye out. Across from him, Black*Star's eyes are narrowed dangerously.

"Don't you dare drop this, Soul," he states calmly, lowering his end to the ground gently. Soul follows suit, and contemplates the fact that the gun never leaves the back of his neck. That can't be comfortable for the wielder. Black*Star steps away from the package and gives Soul the eyeball. He sets his end on the ground and begins to rise slowly.

"Hey now, man. No need for that. Package is on the ground."

"Shut your fucking mouth, asshole. I don't need your lip-"

Soul twists as he comes up, slamming his elbow into the man's solar plexus and rolling away from the piece attached to his neck. The gunman wheezes and drops, and Soul smashes his hand with his foot. He can feel bones snap and pop. Black*Star laughs a little, harsh and cruel.

"Little shit. Who do you think you are, trying to steal what's ours?"

"Black*Star!" Soul has just enough time to get it out before they're surrounded, thugs in black and brown, cold eyes and sneers. Soul has no idea when, in the fifteen minutes they'd been out of the car, these assholes would have had time to drop by for an ambush, but there's no time to think on it. Black*Star is already throwing punches left and right, and Soul has just enough time to catch the gleam in his eye before he's having to duck a fist aimed straight at his face. "Shit!"

He concentrates on dodging first, fists curled protectively. He lands a few punches, can feel the snapcrunch of his elbow hitting a nose. He lashes out with a leg and manages to break through the ring of smelly fuckheads.

Given air and some space, he can see Black*Star has given up on punching big as his primary means of defense, and has whipped out a knife Soul didn't know he had. He's more than effective with it, slicing fast and quick.

He doesn't particularly want to resort to the gun Black*Star had given him. It's going to be fucking hell on the paperwork when this operation is over. At least, he thinks quickly, it will be if someone finds out-there is no one here who will tell. He whips out his piece and takes a moment.  _Exhale_. He fires, and a thug drops, kneecap shattered and bleeding.

"Son of a bitch!"

Soul drops three, but the remaining three don't seem terribly impressed. Before they can close in on him again, Soul squeezes the trigger. Four shots, three hits in non vital places, and Soul ignores the groaning, incapacitated goons for Black*Star, who is faring less well with his knife.

" _Shit_." They're too close and clustered to risk more gunfire, so Soul flicks the safety on and shoves the gun into the back of his pants, praying that he doesn't accidentally get his ass shot off. He'll never hear the end of it from Maka if he does. With another curse, he wades into the fray around his friend, fists flying once more.

There's blood in his eye, but Soul is at least reasonably positive that it's his own. He hopes. There's a deep ache in his shoulder-it doesn't feel as though anything is permanent though, so he continues on. He punches and kicks with the best of them, years of physical training coming to fruition as the thugs drop between him and Black*Star until there's no one else left standing.

Next to him, Black*Star lets out a manic laugh, grinning from ear to ear. Soul returns his grin as he looks at the groaning thugs, but it's half-hearted at best.

"Hey, Black*Star?"

"Kneel before your god, puny fuckers!"

"Black*Star-"

"What? I am trying to instill my greatness into these little shits."

"Weren't there more of them?" Soul is pretty sure there had been more. He had shot six, and Black*Star had incapacitated another six, but...

" _Fuck_." Black*Star stares at the ground, and Soul blinks. The parcel is gone, along with the last three punks who had jumped them. "Giriko is going to be _pissed_."

* * *

Things are going much better than she had expected upon returning to work. The knowledge that Soul will be dropping by the club weighs heavily on her brain, but she shoves it away as best as she can. Worrying isn't going to change anything, and it's just going to make her jumpy. Nevertheless, she keeps a watchful eye on the club's entrance. She will not be taken by surprise again and risk blowing their cover.

She tries not to think about the fact that, despite her undercover work, she's never had to engage in quite this level of deceit before, and never while relying on another person quite like she will have to rely on Soul. She doesn't like that she's not in control of this operation, and she hates the fact that that might be for the best.

"Here you go, mister." She sets the drink down on one of the tiny tables and flashes the swarthy man a smile. He leers at her in return and runs a hand up her hip. She doesn't flinch or wince, but she does go very still and forces her mouth to work. "Uh-uh~ I'm not that kinda waitress, sweetie." He moves his hand back, but it's slow and reluctant, and his voice is nigh on petulant.

"That's not what it looked like the other night, Kitten."

"Sorry, sweetie. Must have been a trick of the light. But don't you worry, it's Bambi's turn on stage. She'll keep you good company." She keeps her tone light and flirty, but backs away from the table. The man scowls a little, but takes a sip of his drink and looks up at the main stage, and she slips away completely as soon as his attention is diverted successfully.

She forces herself to remain smiling, and to remember that that particular comment can mean a variety of things, up to and including all the harassment she's taken from Giriko, and that no one is about to contradict Giriko's authority to commandeer wait staff for trysts. While it works in her favor, the thought makes her cringe; she really hates that sleazeball.

"I need a drink!"

Maka glances up fast enough to give herself a crick in the neck. She would know that obnoxious voice-loud enough to carry even over the music of the club-anywhere. Sure enough, there is a familiar mop of blue hair coming her way, accompanied by messy white. She makes her way to them before one of the other waitresses can.

"What can I get you boys?"

Black*Star blinks, momentarily startled, then grins widely and slaps Soul on the back. " _Damn_  the service in this place is good! Gemme a Singapore Sling, would you, babe?"

"O-of course," she smiles tightly. "For you... _Soul_?" She makes her smile a little larger, a little brighter, and turns to her partner.

"Got an ice pack, Kitten?" He grins, face pulling uncomfortably, and Soul can feel his lip start to bleed again. Maka's eyes widen.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Drinks first! Eater wants a screwdriver!" Soul looks horrified at the prospect of citrus and vodka anywhere near his face, but Black*Star is shooing her away before he can protest. "Man, I can't believe it. You and the waitress." Black*Star snags a table and flings himself into a chair.

Soul just raises an eyebrow and smirks. "I  _told_  you."

"Yeah, man, but I didn't really believe you! She was ice bitch central last time."

"What can I say-I am a very persuasive man."

"You're very full of shit. What, you hiding a mondo-schlong or something?" Soul gives him a smug look. Black*Star throws his head back and guffaws. "Oh man, yeah; whaaatever."

"One Singapore Sling and one ice water." Maka sets the drinks down, and Soul gives her a grateful look.

" _Ice water_? Pussy~"

Maka raises an eyebrow and puts her hands on her hips. "You're the one who ordered the Singapore Sling here. That drink is so fruity, the bartender had to look up the recipe."

Black*Star scoffs. "Fruity drinks are the manliest of drinks! Not like ice water."

"Dude, lay off. My face hurts like a motherfucker," Soul scowls and holds the glass up to his lip.

"Dodge better next time, plebe." He slurps noisily on the straw the bartender had been so thoughtful to throw in.

"I wouldn't have to dodge if you were a better fighter," Soul says petulantly. Black*Star waves his hand dismissively.

"Whatever, bro. Your god didn't want to leave you out of the fight.  _I_  am looking out for you."

Maka scowls down at the mobster. "I'd rather you look out for his  _face_  and leave it not all busted up."

"Thank you for your concern,  _Kitten_."

"You're welcome, baby," she smiles with that false sweetness. "Can't have your money maker broken." Beside him, Black*Star dies laughing and Soul wonders if this is what hell is like. "Actually," she says, "do you mind if I borrow him for a second?"

The mobster looks between Soul and Maka, glances at the way her hand rests lightly on his shoulder, and gives Soul a knowing smirk.

"Be gentle with him, Kitten-I need him back in one piece."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'd like him in one piece, too," she replies, hand loosely fisting into Soul's shirt. "Come on, baby." She tugs gently, and while part of him wants to balk at the way she's pushing (or pulling as the case may be) him around, the larger part is strangely ok with it. She doesn't let go until she's towed him into the dark hallway that leads to the private rooms. It's still reasonably early, and the hall is clear. His back hits the wall with a light thud and Kitten the waitress is gone, and Soul is staring into the irritated face of his partner. "What the  _hell_ , Soul?"

"We were making a pick up and got caught in a fight with some thugs."

"Thugs? Locals? What were they wearing?" He describes them, and Maka frowns. "They don't sound familiar, but I'll put the watch out for them."

He nods. "Thanks. They took the package we were picking up, too."

"Drugs?"

"Maybe. Black*Star wouldn't tell me, other than it was supposed to be for Giriko."

Maka's scowl deepens. "That can't be good. He's going to be extra pissed."

"On top of stealing you away from him the other night and sending him on a wild goose chase, yeah. I'd say I'm going on his naughty list." He grins at her again, then winces. "Ow. I am going to be happy when that stops hurting."

"I bet," she says wryly. One hand snakes up between them and she grasps his jaw gently. The light is too dim for her to get a very good look at all the damage, but she can judge mostly from his winces where the worst of it is. "You've got a nasty split on your brow, too," she adds, hand brushing against it lightly.

"Ow,  _fuck_ ," he groans. She has the grace to look a little sheepish.

"Sorry. Must be worse than I thought."

He sighs, and looks over her shoulder. "Could be worse. Mostly you just startled me." She hums in agreement and her fingers continue to run over his face and shoulders clinically. Soul tries not to flinch away from her, and fails miserably.

"Don't be such a baby."

"Then stop poking at me."

"I'm barely touching you! And I'm trying to see how badly you got your ass kicked."

"I did not get my ass kicked, goddammit, woman," he snarls.

"Oh, my bad. Obviously it's your face that took all the damage."

The sounds of drunken laughter filter through the irritated heat of her brain and it takes a second before she realizes that she can hear the laughter over the music and it's heading their way. She narrows her eyes up at him.

"Don't you dare take this the wrong way," and then she's arching up and pressing her lips against his. His split lip aches, but he finds that it lessens when he parts his lips. Judicious application of tongue forces Maka to part her lips as well, and  _oh_ , that's much better. He can hear now the same voices Maka did, and breaks their kiss long enough to whisper,

"Gonna make it convincing, Kitten." That's all the warning she gets before his hands are on her hips, and she's being pulled and twisted, and it's her back that's against the wall. She gasps in surprise, but his mouth slants over hers, tongue licking against her lips. He doesn't close his eyes, which is antithetical to everything she's ever known about kissing, undercover or not, and so she doesn't close her eyes either. Instead, she kisses him passionately, channeling her irritation into her glare and into making sure she presses her teeth a little too hard to his lips. His hands flex, and she can feel his fingers digging into her hips.

One hand slips into his hair and the other takes a firm grip on his ass. She will not be unconvincing in this little charade. Against her mouth, Soul lets out a noise that's part frustrated grunt, part moan and presses against her fully. She can feel the rapid thump of his heart against her chest, his knees knocking against her own. He disentangles his mouth from hers and lowers it to her neck, left exposed by pigtails. He nudges the flimsy collar of her button down away, and she can feel his voice in her skin.

"Who is it?"

She blinks, because his teeth rest against her skin and it's distracting in a way that she's never considered before. Soul rolls hips into hers and she doesn't bother to bite back her groan. She hooks her chin over Soul's shoulder as he worries her neck lightly, and keeps her eyelids partially lowered. It's all she can do to keep them open at all, but she wants to get a good look at who's about to catch them.

" _Fuuuck_ ," she groans quietly, burying into Soul's shoulder. He can feel her mouth latch onto his neck, teeth sinking into his skin, and his hips rubs against hers in reaction.  _Fuck indeed_ , he thinks as her hand tightens in his hair and the other clenches his ass. He can feel her heartbeat speed up, but he keeps his face to the wall.

The footsteps don't stop, though they do pause and whatever low conversation the two had been having ceases. Maka freezes against him. He can hear a sharp bark of laughter that rings familiar in his ears but he doesn't respond, except to press another kiss to Maka's soft skin. The interlopers pass by, and marginally, Maka begins to relax against him. She releases his neck with a wet noise that sends mixed signals to his pants.

"Is it clear?" he asks. He doesn't hear anything, but there seems to be some kind of rushing noise in his ears that might have something to do with blood going places it shouldn't, and he can't really be sure.

"I-I think so." Maka wishes he would stop talking into her skin; it sends goosebumps down her arms, and she's having a hard enough time not shaking. Mercifully, he pulls away from her, and she unwinds her arms from around him. Soul narrows his eyes as he takes a closer look at his partner.

"Are you all right? You're shaking."

She had hoped he wouldn't notice. "I'm fine, I'm just  _pissed_." Soul swallows a little. Perhaps shoving his face into her neck hadn't been the best idea on the planet, but he hadn't really been thinking much at that point.

"Any idea who that was?" he asks, hoping to steer in a direction that wouldn't get him slapped again. Maka clenches her fists, and growls,

" _Yeah_. That was Medusa."

 


	7. Murderously Sly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't always get what you want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, this chapter has a good deal of Giriko, which boils down to a lot of extremely foul language, misogynistic comments and attitudes, rape threats, and a lot of things that can be very trigger for some people. I get that this can make folks uncomfortable, but Giriko is not a nice dude, and this chapter reflects that.

Chapter 7: Murderously Sly

* * *

" _Medusa_?" he hisses. Even though they aren't pressed flush against one another any longer, Soul can still feel the way his partner vibrates with anger.

"Yes." Maka practically growls it, and for a moment, Soul is glad that he's got her up against the wall. He's not sure that she wouldn't have immediately gone after the notorious woman, despite the fact that they're in the middle of one of her clubs, have no identification, and no weapons. There's a look in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before, and he thinks that he really should have. He's seen it before in some of the men he's worked with; he knows what that means.

"We need a plan."

She darts wild eyes up at him. "I go after her." Before she can act on her words, Soul moves, and Maka finds herself trapped, his arms caging her in on either side.

"The hell you do," he growls.

"Don't stop me,  _Soul_ ," she snaps. "Our target is right there and you want me to ignore her? What the  _fuck_."

"You are going to ignore her because this is a situation with no way out. We know now for a fact that she does come here, that's info we didn't have before."

"But I can take her now."

"With  _what_? You don't have a gun, you don't have any weapon. If you've got a pair of cuffs, I don't even wanna know where you're keeping them. And what about whoever was with her?"

"Giriko," Maka supplies, her eyes fixed down the hallway where their quarry disappeared. Soul stiffens.

"Really?"

"They seemed pretty buddy-buddy to me." Maka squirms a little more, but it's not as fierce. Soul hopes that's because she's finally letting her common sense take over, but he tenses his arms anyway, ready for her to try and make a break. She looks back up at her partner, searches hard red eyes, and exhales slowly. She knows that he's right. Logically there's no way she can get Medusa now and actually get out alive. "Ok," she says finally.

"Ok what."

She gives him a petulant glare. "Ok, you can let me go. I'm not going after her." Soul raises an eyebrow. She crosses her arms. "Do I need to pinky swear or something?"

Somewhat reluctantly, he lowers his arms. "Later," he promises lowly, "we're going to have a discussion about you and Medusa."

She gives him a shrug. "I can't go take her out. But maybe we can find out where they went?"

"Allright. But I'm coming with."

Maka quirks her lips in his direction. "Of course. Follow me." And with that, she slips past him, and cautiously makes her way down the hall. Soul follows, making sure that he's within grabbing distance of Maka, and keeping an ear out on the way that they've come from. Soul doesn't have much trouble keeping his footsteps quiet on the marbled floors, but Maka's still got those heels on, and in a moment, she bends over with a frustrated grumble and slips them off. "Stupid things," she mutters.

Behind her, Soul swallows heavily, and tries not to think about how well those thigh highs hug her legs, or the smooth curve of her ass he just glimpsed. Maka holds her shoes one handed, and continues, footfalls completely silent now. It only takes another moment before she stops again, and he nearly runs into the back of her.

"What's the hold up?" he whispers. Maka turns her head to find his face inches from hers.

"Dead end, genius," she murmurs back, keeping her eyes focused on his. Soul looks past her, and sure enough, there's naught but a little decorative table and lamp and the end of a corridor.

"That's-"

"Impossible?"

He gives her a little smirk. "I was going to say stupid. Why would there be a hall going to nowhere in a place like this? There's gotta be a secret door somewhere."

"Smug," she mumbles back, but she's grinning a little as she says it. She crouches down, stares at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him. "Listen?" she asks, but Soul's already picked up on her intent, and moves to the walls. Back here, the music from the main floor is muted, and he keeps a careful ear out for anything that doesn't fit in with the low throb of the bass while his eyes scan the walls for any small cracks or gaps. He's intent in his scrutiny, and doesn't notice Maka attempting to get his attention until she lays a hand on his shin.

He looks down at her, startled, and she motions to the marble floor. For a moment, he's not entirely sure what she's trying to point out and he shrugs. Maka scowls a little, and tugs on his pants leg. He crouches next to her, and she takes his hand, running his fingers across the floor. The rough pads of his fingers drag against the marble and- _there_. He gives Maka a triumphant look, and she grins. Together, they follow the faint tracks in the floor to the wall. Soul can just barely make out the edge of what has to be the secret door. He looks back at his partner, eyebrow raised.

Maka just smirks, and reaches into her bra. He looks on in surprise as she pulls out a long, thin pin, and presses it into the wall next to the crack. Soul grins back at her and stands, reaching out. Maka grabs his hand and her shoes, and he pulls her to her feet effortlessly. Her stockinged feet slip a little on the slick marble, but Soul steadies her with a firm hand on her waist, and together they make their way back to the main part of the club.

They're almost though the hall before Maka groans and tugs on Soul's sleeve.

"Hold up a bit. Forgot about these damn things." She steadies herself on his arm and slips her heels back on with a grumble. "All right." She straightens and moves a little closer. So close to the floor, the music throbs against temples, but provides the best background for not being overheard. Maka leans in, sliding her arms up to Soul's neck and fists a hand in his hair gently. "We can go over this more later, yeah?"

Soul doesn't have to strain to hear her because her lips are so close they're brushing against his ear. He settles his hands lightly on her hips as she presses against him. "Sounds good," he says. "You wanna wait until tomorrow, or hash it out as soon as you get done with work?" He pulls back a little, critically examines her neck and collarbones.

"I'll drop by your place." She runs her fingers through his hair, gives him a stare, and then gives up, ruffling it thoroughly with both hands. "Better," she proclaims.

"Mm," he says articulately, still staring at her neck.

"What?"

"You could use a little more-" he starts, and then his mouth is on her neck again, teeth lightly scraping against her skin, sucking fiercely. Maka feels her left knee tremble, and tries not to let out a low groan. He pulls back a moment later, releasing her with wet pop, and examines his handiwork. "There. That should do it. Nice and  _convincing_ ," he murmurs.

Maka would like to argue, but instead just glares at his smarmy grin, and defiantly pops another button on her blouse and musses up a pigtail. "More convincing this way," she insists, and skews his shirt a little more.

Soul just grins. "Whatever you say, Kitten. I'll wait for you after work."

"You don't have to do that, I'll be fine-"

"It's no big," he says, and turns. Maka watches him go and emphatically doesn't stare at the way his ass looks as he struts away.

* * *

She catches glimpses of Soul throughout her shift. For the most part, he sticks with Black*Star and nurses ice cold waters. Maka can only assume that he's getting them refilled himself, or by one of the other waitresses. Only once does she see a dancer approach him, and she watches him smile slowly and shake his head at the redheaded bombshell.

A part of her feels a little irrationally relieved at his reaction, even if it isn't any of her business if he...pumps his sources. She can recognize that he has a job to do, and wonders if she needs to talk with him about that later. She doesn't want valuable information to escape just because he's afraid he might hurt her feelings-or Kitten's feelings, whichever is appropriate in this case.

Maka shakes her head as if it will chase the pesky questions away, and offers another smile to one of her customers. The lights dim a little and begin a slow strobe as "Sunshine" takes the stage. Even from across the club, Maka can make out her high, tinkling laugh as the younger Thompson sister practically skips onto the stage and leaps at the pole, executing a picture perfect spin. The girl has style, and for a moment, everyone in the club's eyes are on the blonde. It's genuinely only luck that Maka looks away from the dancer in time to see Giriko coming out of the hallway they had been occupying earlier.

It's hard to make out from this side of the club, but his face looks thunderous. She winds her way through the tables, glance darting between Giriko's menacing strut and the hallway, waiting for Medusa to appear. She carefully wipes down a table, keeping track of the mob boss and the hallway until she hears her name being called from near the bar. She grumbles a little bit with the knowledge that she's probably going to lose both of her quarries, but goes over nonetheless.

Maka's loaded down with a drink tray before she knows it, and slowly makes her rounds to her patrons. She loses Giriko completely, but she's just setting down the last drink when she looks up and catches Medusa slinking her way along the walls of the club. For a moment, her vision is nothing but red, and she's back in that alleyway, blood spatter soaking into concrete. She could just make out the numerous stab wounds past the badly burned and mutilated flesh of the two young cops. Only one badge survived the fire, half twisted from the heat, but she would have known who it was even without the identification-she'd certainly teased the kid enough about that bright pink hair; even burned it was a dead giveaway.

She blinks, and Medusa is chatting with Blair. Even from her vantage, Maka can see the strained smile on the purple-haired vixen's face. She breathes deeply and tries to remember that Soul will murder her himself if she does anything rash. Maka eases her white-knuckled grip on her serving tray and casually makes her way closer to the pair. She gets close, but not close enough to actually hear anything before Medusa smirks and Blair lets out a high, false laugh in response. Then Medusa is moving out of range and up the stairs. She can't follow without being incredibly suspicious, so she makes her way to Blair.

"Evening, boss lady. Can I get you anything?" She takes in the set of Blair's shoulders, the way her jaw continues to clench even as she smiles.

"Kitten~" she practically purrs. "Get me a White Russian, would you, pumpkin?"

Maka nods and puts in her boss's request, keeping her eye trained on the older woman. She takes note of the way Blair's hands clench and unclench against the railing she's leaning on, and even her normal lusty smirk seems coolly detached. Whatever Medusa had been telling her, she did not care for it.

She returns with Blair's drink and hands it over. "Everything ok?"

Blair gives her a scrutinizing once over. "You're a cute little thing," she says, then narrows her eyes a bit. "How did it go with our special client last night," she asks, switching tack, voice deceptively neutral.

Maka blinks, and looks away, torn. She wants to let rip into Blair for allowing what almost happened with her, and worse, for allowing it to happen to Cherry. "We were interrupted," she finally settles on. Her green eyes fix on Blair's. "After he tore my shirt off." She only notices the cloud that passes over Blair's face because she's watching.

"I see."

"Is Giriko why Cherry's out?" Maka knows the answer, but she wants to hear Blair say it. She seems like the kind of woman who wants her girls to be happy despite being under the thumb of Arachnophobia. It's a stretch, but maybe there is something she can do to get Giriko away from these girls.

Blair nods once, slowly. "It's...not ideal." At Maka's incredulous look, Blair gives her a small frown. "It's also not a thing that I have much control over." She gives Maka another scrutinizing glance, eyes lingering on her neck. "You say that you were interrupted?"

"Yeah, someone came in and told Giriko he was being called. Dunno what about."

"Who was it?"

Maka doesn't like the calculating look in her boss's eyes, but lying isn't going to do her any favors. She glances down, then back up, the picture of coy innocence. "Eater." She likes the wide smirk that Blair gives her even less.

"Oh  _really_? Did you thank him properly?"

Maka sees the opportunity and takes it, giving her boss a saucy grin. "All night long."

"I see he lives up to his name," she comments, and Maka can't help the scarlet blush that creeps through her cheeks. Blair lets out a raucous laugh and shoots back the rest of her drink. "Oh, dirty girl~ Your neck looks like it's been feasted upon," she says with a wink. "You should keep that one close."

Her words are light, but Maka can still hear the meaning behind them, and nods. "I intend to." That Blair is trying to covertly advise her is a small relief, and she tucks it away for future reference.

"Now shoo; you've got patrons to see to."

Maka nods and heads back to the main floor, mind still turning over the strange conversation. She takes a deep breath and searches the tables once again, but sometime during her interlude with Medusa and Blair, she's completely lost track of Giriko. There's a small sinking feeling in her stomach when she glances at the table Soul and Black*Star had been occupying earlier to find Candy sweeping up some broken glass, an irritated scowl on her face.

_Fuck._

* * *

Soul's lip  _really_  hurts. It's made worse by the fact that he's got his back against a shitty brick wall for the second time in as many days, and he's really getting tired of it. He's also none too pleased with the spitting ball of misplaced rage screaming at him, or the fact that he can't really fight back without completely blowing his position.

"You two think this is fucking cute or somethin'?" Giriko is  _pissed_  and the part of Soul that's FBI is amused by the thug's outburst and lack of control. The part of him that's just been slammed into a wall is less thrilled, however. His attention is primarily on Giriko, who poses the most immediate threat, but Soul is keenly aware of the fact that Black*Star's there too, and could throw him under the bus at any second. Technically, it's both their faults that Giriko's shipment got taken, but the blond seems to really have it out for Soul. "Answer me, you little shit!"

"No I don't think it's cute," Soul replies evenly, keeping his eyes trained on the older man. Giriko snarls, and shoves Soul back against the wall again.

"Little smartass. We lost a lotta fuckin' money because of you. How do you think we're gonna make that up?"

"I dunno, maybe make sure a shitton of dumbass punks don't find out where you're making your drops next time?" Soul doesn't see the punch coming-just feels the hard fist slamming into his guts and barely manages to bite back a pained cry.

"That smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, Eater. How do I know you didn't set the whole thing up? Tryna make a little cash on the side off our product?"

Soul coughs. "You know it wasn't me 'cause I didn't know about the damn drop until Black*Star told me-right before we went to grab it. 'Sides, I'm just starting to make a name for myself. You think I'm gonna risk it for a little extra cash, then you're a fucking moron."

Giriko sneers. "Way I see it, you're doing a lot of grabbing at shit that ain't yours. You think I don't know what you were playin' at last night, tellin' me the fuckin' boss wanted me?"

His eyes widen and he feels his heart speed up.  _Fuck_. Soul hadn't considered the consequences of his little fib. At the time, he'd been too concerned with getting this fucking creep away from a seemingly helpless waitress. "Wha-"

"And then you got that bitch up against a wall tonight like I wouldn't know what's what? I knew I shoulda fucked that dumb cunt first instead of playin' around, an' left you with sloppy seconds." Giriko laughs, and Soul lashes out before he can stop himself, hand fisting into Giriko's stained shirt.

"She's not your whore, you fucking shit!" Soul shakes the mobster, who just cackles. Giriko pushes back, wrenching Soul's hand away.

"So what, she's  _your_  whore? You went an' fell for some skanky slut can't keep her knees shut? That's fuckin' rich, Eater. Best fuckin' laugh I've had all week." He slams Soul into the brick wall again, and Soul winces, trying to keep his head from bouncing on the bricks too hard. "Still, you gotta big mouth on you for being so low on the pole. Show you what happens to little fucks who take my shit."

"I didn't take your fucking package, and she's a goddamn  _person_  you fu-" The back of Giriko's hand slams into his face with a truly impressive amount of force, and despite his earlier efforts, his face cracks into the brick. "What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you," Soul snarls. It feels like his face is on fire, but Giriko isn't finished. Soul can see the punch coming, and the dirty bastard is aiming straight for his solar plexus.

"Dude." Giriko's hand stops, held back by Black*Star, who's finally moved. "That's enough."

Giriko turns on him, lips curling. "Who the fuck are you to tell  _me_  what's enough?"

Black*Star releases the blond's wrist and shoves himself between Giriko and Soul. "I'm the great Black*Star, bitch! He doesn't know shit about your package. I'm the one who told him about it, and I was with him the whole fuckin' time."

Giriko glares at him. "Yeah, and how do I know you ain't workin' with him? I'm about sick of your fuckin' attitude too, you uppity shit-" He pushes back, and Black*Star stumbles. Soul pushes himself off the wall, and gets back in Giriko's face.

"Don't blame us 'cause you've gotta leak somewhere. We're just trying to do our jobs. You're gonna beat the shit outta me, at least do it for something I actually did-like steal the girl you couldn't close the deal with."

"Son of a bitch-"

Faintly, Soul hears the creak of the club's backdoor opening, and wonders if Free's finally come out to try and put an end to the brawling. Instead, he hears her voice.

"Soul? What the hell is going on?"

He wants to look to confirm that it's Maka, but Giriko is swinging again, and he can't afford to. If he can't fight back the way that he wants, the least he can do is try and dodge. Black*Star steps in again, and blocks a punch.

"Dude, calm down. We didn't take your shit. And what the hell are you doing getting so worked up over a fuckin' ho for? That ain't like you."

"I don't give a shit about the skank, I just wanna beat this smug fuck's face in."

"Yeah, I get that. He can be a pain in the ass. But beating his face in ain't gonna get you your shit back, and it ain't gonna make you feel better."

"You sure about that, cause I'm thinking it really is."

Black*Star gives Giriko a tight grin, teeth bared. "I'm really sure it isn't, cause you lay another hand on  _my_  fuckin' minion, and I'm gonna break it the fuck off in your ass. I don't care who you are."

From behind him, Soul gives Giriko a slightly bloody smile. His cracked lip is seeping blood again, and he can hear Maka's harsh breathing in the momentary silence of the alley. Her heels tap hesitantly on the concrete, and he catches her out of the corner of his eye, shakes his head at her. Maka just gives him a firm look, and sidles over to him, wrapping one hand around his wrist. Giriko's eyes dart between Maka and Soul, then back at Black*Star. His lip curls, and he sneers in disgust.

"You're a real fuckin' badass, Eater. Gotta have your boss and a fuckin' cheapass tramp defend you? Fuckin' pathetic. You ain't worth my time, bitch. You say you didn't take my shit? You better find a way to make it up to me," he glances over at Maka, eyes lingering. "If you don't, your little wench's days are numbered." He licks his lips and Soul can feel Maka's grip on his wrist tighten. He hadn't even realized he'd tensed up, ready to punch Giriko. "Maybe I'll show her what it's like to be with a  _real_  man before I slit her throat."

"Jesus fuck, Giriko. We'll pay you back, just get the fuck away," Black*Star rolls his eyes, arms crossed. "A god like me doesn't have time for this bullshit."

"I've got my eyes on you fucks," Giriko says. He gives them all one last stare, and it's Soul's fist that clenches this time as his eyes linger on Maka. Next to him, she's vibrating again with what he can only assume is repressed rage.

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Black*Star watches the mobster go, strutting down the alleyway, then turns to Soul. "You ok, minion?"

Soul rolls his shoulders a little, and cracks his neck. "Been better, but I've also been worse. I'm starting to think being around you is bad for my health."

Black*Star laughs at that, throwing his head back. "Come on, it's  _fun_. Besides, I take care of my own."

"Coulda taken care of your own before he started slamming my face into bricks," he mutters.

"There's a hierarchy, dude. You know that. Anyway, bricks build character." Black*Star frowns, and looks at Maka, taking note of her death grip on Soul's wrist, and the slight trembling of her shoulders. "You shouldn't've said that though."

"Said what? I said a lot of shit to that asshole," Soul scoffs.

"Yeah, that's the problem. Giriko's got a thing about chicks. 'S true you snagged her away from him?"

Next to him Maka releases his wrist and stands a little taller. "He kept me from ending up in the hospital like Cherry," she says. "He's good to me, not like that bastard." She spits on the ground, and Black*Star chuckles.

"Knew she was a little spitfire. Ol' fuckface innit gonna be happy about that though, especially not since you look like you really give a shit about her. He ain't joking about making her a target."

* * *

Soul toes his shoes off the minute he steps into his apartment, Maka right behind him.

"I swear to god I am going to fuck that guy up," she mutters under her breath, bending down to unlace her boots.

"You're gonna have to beat me to it," Soul replies from the vicinity of the bathroom.

"I relish the challenge." She rummages through the cabinets and pulls out her notebooks, then flops onto the futon, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

"You want anything?" She looks up, blinking, and Soul gives her a little grin. "Drink? Coffee? Snack?"

She tilts her head and frowns up at him. Under the stark lights of his kitchenette, Soul's lip looks terrible. Maka can see what looks like a faint bruise forming on his cheek.

"You look like shit," she comments, and gets up from the futon. Soul brushes a hand over his eye and lip, then grimaces.

"Thanks. I take it that you won't be wanting anything, because I'm sure as hell not going to serve you anything now."

Maka scoffs and rolls her eyes. "I'm just stating the facts. I should hope it doesn't come as a surprise to you that you had a number done on your face tonight."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Bathroom?"

Soul waves a hand in the general direction of the bathroom. "It's the door that isn't the bedroom," he says helpfully, and Maka just rolls her eyes at him again. He hears her rummaging around in there, and wonders what the hell she's doing when Maka emerges a couple of minutes later, peroxide and cotton balls in hand. "What, really?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Yes, really. I'm not holding a conversation with you while you still have dried blood all over your face."

He scowls. "I washed my face!"

"Not well enough. Go sit, and stop being a baby."

Skeptically, he plants himself on the futon and crosses his arms. She perches on the edge of the coffee table, and moistens a cotton ball. Maka gives him a look and crooks a finger.

"This is embarrassing," he mutters, but he scoots closer regardless, resting his elbows on his knees. Maka snorts lightly.

"It's only as embarrassing as you let it be." She gives him an exasperated look when he flinches away from the first cotton ball. "Relax, would you? I've got a lot of experience with this kind of thing."

He flicks red eyes up to meet hers. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah," she hums. "My mom was a doctor. Taught me a lot about how to clean wounds and patch up people. Easy stuff," she adds, dabbing carefully at his eyebrow. "But I can do some field dressing and basic suturing if necessary." Under her hands, he stiffens, and Maka shoots him a quick grin. It's mischievous in a way he doesn't expect, and lights up her face. "I'm pretty sure you're not going to need any sutures, Soul."

"Promise?" He grins back at her, and is pleased to note that she's comfortable enough to smile and tease.

"Mm. We'll see. The day is still young, technically." She wets another cotton ball. "Chin up," she says, and leans in closer.

"So your mom just taught you this stuff?"

She snatches his chin in one hand. "Hold still and don't talk," she murmurs, dabbing gently at his lip. For a moment, he thinks she won't answer, but she sighs a little and continues. "I learned mostly by watching. She used to fix my dad up a lot after he'd come home from work. He hates hospitals and doctors, so she was always the one who patched him up after a rough night."

"Cop?" he tries to mumble around her finger, and gets part of a cotton ball in his mouth for his trouble.

"No." She pauses and tilts her head to the side, as if considering something. "He was with the FBI for a good long while, actually." She leans back, satisfied. Soul works his mouth and tries to get the bit of cotton unstuck from his teeth. "Told you not to talk!"

Soul grumbles, but manages to get it out a moment later. "Thanks, by the way," he says.

"No problem. I'd tell you to get another ice pack, but your face is, ah. Probably going to be swollen anyway, and I'd get some neosporin or something for those cuts. I didn't see anything in your bathroom."

"I'll pick some up later today," he says, and she nods.

"Good." There's an awkward beat, and Soul stands to grab himself an ice pack and Maka stands to return her supplies to the bathroom, and then they're in each other's space, and for a moment, she can feel his chest rise and fall. Then she steps to the side, and he shifts. "Sorry," she murmurs.

"It's cool," he replies, heading back to the kitchenette.

Maka makes it to the bathroom, and carefully puts the supplies back where she got them. She catches a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror, and is startled to see that her face is red. Red enough, in fact, that it matches the  _enormous fucking hickey_  that graces her neck. She kind of wants to be angry with her new partner, but she's also pretty sure he's got a matching mark on his neck, and that thought is strangely satisfying.

She splashes a little bit of cold water on her face, and wonders at the changes in her life in the past day. Soul is, at least, much easier to work with than she had thought he would be, and while she's still not entirely happy to be stuck with him, he's already proven himself useful, and she's reasonably sure he isn't going to get her killed. She's not so sure about his ability to keep himself alive, if the last day is any indication, though.

"So," she says, coming out of the bathroom. "Wanna talk about how you got that split lip in the first place?"

Soul is still in the kitchen, banging through cabinets. "Are you more of a vodka girl, or a rum girl?" he asks.

Maka raises an eyebrow. "Depends," she replies. "Generally, vodka." She settles back on the futon and grabs her notebook. "Is this a tactic to get me to drop the subject? Because it's not going to work."

"Nothing so covert, I assure you," he replies, and plunks down something that's kind of pink and-

"Did you just make me a cosmo?"

Soul's cheeks pink slightly, but he gives her a little smirk regardless. "Are you saying that you're too good to enjoy a well-made cosmo, Maka?"

She takes a slow sip and licks her lips. "Nope. Just a little surprised is all."

"It's the only thing I had that would work with vodka," he admits, eyes focused on the way she rests her lips against the edge of her glass.

Maka gives him a smile. "Clearly you missed your calling as a bartender. I bet  _you_  wouldn't have had to look up what a Singapore Sling was," she teases, enjoying the way his cheeks definitely darken.

"Truly, it is the manliest of drinks," he deadpans, taking a sip of his own cosmo and wincing a little at the sting on his lip. "Where should I begin?"

"I find it helps to begin at the beginning," Maka returns, and Soul raises an eyebrow at her, but smiles nevertheless.

"Fair enough. Not long after you left, Black*Star dropped by and said we had a pick up to do-" He gives her a slightly more detailed version than he had at the club earlier, and she manages to write down a somewhat more thorough description of the gang. She frowns.

"These guys sound reasonably well-organized, but nothing about them seems familiar. That's strange. Gangs aren't really my area, but everyone is at least passingly familiar with most of the big ones around here."

"It's strange, but not that unusual. I don't know how much local PD's been keeping up with it, but part of Arachnophobia's m.o. is to integrate local gangs. If they can't bring them into the fold, so to speak, they tend to eliminate them."

Maka shifts, and her pen scratches quickly across the paper. Soul tries not to stare at the way the tip of her tongue peeks out from between her teeth. "What are the odds that it's an outside gang someone brought in just for this operation?" she asks suddenly stopping and looking at him.

He frowns, takes another sip of his drink. "I suppose that it's possible. That brings in another question though-who is stupid enough, or  _strong_  enough, to steal from one of the largest mob operations out there?"

"And what is Arachnophobia moving that can't be gotten more easily from somewhere else?" They share a look, and Maka sighs. "I hate that this is raising more questions than it's answering."

"We'll figure it out," he says confidently. "Look at it this way...more questions means that we're getting a better sense of the whole puzzle. Once we start getting pieces, all of this shit's going to start falling into place."

Maka found his statement oddly reassuring. "I'm assuming that what went down in the alley is related to your little rendezvous gone bad?"

Soul scowls, staring at the bag of ice on the table. "That would be the right kind of assumption. You know, I'm not really surprised that he wanted to take it out on me. I just wish he hadn't decided to do it on my face. Or my ribs." His face darkens a little. "I expected him to be pissed about us losing the shipment, but I wasn't expecting him to accuse us of taking the fucking thing ourselves. I mean, does he really think that we'd go through the trouble of beating the shit outta each other-?"

"Probably. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but Giriko doesn't really strike me as the most stable guy." Maka shudders slightly. "I spoke with Blair tonight," she continues, and Soul wonders for a moment at the non sequitur before it clicks.

"Any word on Cherry?"

Maka shakes her head. "She didn't say anything, other than essentially confirm that Giriko was the one that took her out of commission. She also asked me how my little private session with him went," she bares her teeth at the memory.

"What did you tell her?"

"That you came to my rescue," she pauses, taking a slow sip of her drink, and then drops her voice a little. "-And that I spent the whole night thanking you...extensively."

Soul nearly chokes, giving her a wide-eyed stare. "You  _what_?"

Maka smirks a little. "I implied that we spent the whole night bumping uglies. I figured it was a good way to cement our relationship status in a believable way."

"And to think that I could have been getting laid, when I was actually being arrested." He grins, and Maka gives him an unimpressed look.

"Only in your wildest dreams, Eater," she deadpans.

His grin widens. "I'm starting to think you'll be featuring prominently in  _all_  my dreams,  _Kitten_." He's rewarded by the faint red flush that creeps up her neck. He isn't completely sure if it's embarrassment or anger, and Soul is starting to find that he doesn't really care. If there is one thing that he's picked up quickly from being Maka Albarn's partner, it's that she is  _fun_  to rile up.

She sniffs, and turns up her nose at him. "If that's the kind of pick up line you're using, it's no wonder you aren't getting anywhere with the dancers."

"I think the reason that I don't get anywhere with the dancers is that I don't bring dancers home." He leans in a little closer, and adds lowly, "Just ill-tempered waitresses." She tries to keep a straight face, but ends up snickering. Soul chuckles and leans back, snatching his discarded ice pack from the coffee table. "So your boss is under the impression that we're doing the horizontal tango?"

Maka snorts. "Who  _says_  that?"

Soul glares at her. "You just called it 'bumping uglies.' No sane person uses that phrase."

"That is a perfectly acceptable euphemism!" They lock glares for a moment before Maka rolls her eyes and continues. "And  _yes_. Blair is under the impression that I needed your rescuing, and that I repaid you with some kind of marathoning sex-olympics."

Soul bares his teeth in a grin. "Sounds like we had a wild night."

"Rather." Maka sobers, face pulling into a frown. "We also know that Blair is aware of the danger that Giriko possesses to her employees."

"I don't like it anymore than you do, Maka, but I don't know that Blair has all that much say in what's going on. All of our intelligence indicates that Blair's ownership of the club is nominal at best. She's essentially there to run the day to day of the club and keep everything above board and legal for Medusa."

She knows that what Soul says makes sense, and that there really isn't much that Blair can do, but in the past couple of weeks, there's a part of her that's really grown to like Blair and her girls. She can't imagine Liz or Pattie ending up in Cherry's place. "It's frustrating," she mutters, and Soul awkwardly pats her on the shoulder.

"I know." He pauses, and hesitates a moment. There is a truth, ugly as it is, that needs to be addressed. "I don't...the fact of the matter is that Chupa Cabra and its employees aren't really our concern." She whips her head to glare at him, and he continues, "Not technically anyway, and certainly not part of our assignment parameters."

"You know what? I don't care if it's not in our fucking assignment." Maka slings back the last of her drink, any lingering good mood gone. "The faster we get to Medusa, the faster we can get that scumball out of there-"

"I know, Maka, I know. I swear I do. But right now-"

"Right now, we can at least try and keep an eye out on these girls and keep that fucker away from them," she hisses.

He looks into indignant green eyes and sighs. She's not wrong, not really, and he recalls the look of muted rage in her eyes when he burst into the VIP room, and her tattered clothes, and nods. "Ok."

She crosses her arms and gives him another glare for good measure. "Damn right, 'ok'," she mutters. Soul gives her a crooked little smile. He looks ridiculous with a bag of ice on the side of his face, but his eyes are serious as he searches hers. "What?" she asks, eyes narrowing.

"There's just one more thing I gotta know."

She freezes, and he can see the way her shoulders tense and her mouth firms into a hard line. "Can I get another one of these?" She raises her empty glass and shakes it.

Soul takes her glass and heads back to the kitchenette. "Why Medusa," is all he asks. Maka can hear the unspoken words behind his voice.

"If I told you that it was none of your fucking business and that I didn't want to talk about it, would that stop you from bugging me?" He raises one white eyebrow and even from her spot on the futon, the gesture isn't lost on her. She sighs. "It was worth a try."

"Here." He sets down another cosmo, and she quirks her mouth a little. "I know that it's something you don't want to talk about. I get that, I really do. But this  _is_  my business;I need to know why this is personal for you. I need to know that I can trust my partner. I need to know what made you nearly run after Medusa with no game plan and no weapons and only me for backup. What did she do that's worth you getting killed over?"

His words are sympathetic, but she can hear the steel underneath them, and she braces herself a little. Her cosmo tastes a little more strongly of vodka this time around, and she's absurdly glad for that. "Medusa's a cop killer," she says, and Soul nods.

"Yeah, I'm aware." He narrows his eyes. "This goes beyond that though. Who did she kill that you cared about?"

She doesn't flinch, though she kind of wants to. "It was a couple of years ago," she starts, stops, drinks. "Medusa's been on our radar since  _I_  started as a detective-suspicion of involvement in a couple of homicides, possible drug running, money laundering. She's got her fingers in a lot of criminal pies." At Soul's amused scoff, she scowls. "Look, it's a solid analogy, dammit. Anyway. She's big fish, and I didn't think much of it at the time. Except they stuck me with a pair of rookies one day."

He gives her a suspicious look. "They put rookies with  _you_?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You barely look like you're out of training yourself."

"Hey, fuck you, buddy." She prods him in the ribs with a bony finger, and Soul hisses. "I may look young, but the Captain wasn't shooting his mouth off when he said I was one of the best." Her face darkens. "You're right, though. They really shouldn't have given them to me."

Soul knows what happens next. Maybe not the details, but the look in Maka's eyes is familiar enough. He's never lost a partner, but he's seen that look in the eyes of fellow agents more than he's really comfortable with. He asks anyway. "What happened?"

She shoots him a look. "What usually happens? I finished up their training, taught them everything I could, and I let them loose-what you're supposed to do." Maka takes another drink. "And they were murdered." She takes a deep breath, and resists the urge to pull her legs up onto the futon and bury her face in her knees. "They were running a sting on one of Medusa's operations. The report said it was drug smuggling. Bottom line, I helped make them good, but not good enough. Her goons found them, and-" she breaks off because that  _smell_  is still in her nose every time she thinks about it, burned hair and roasted flesh and it makes her want to vomit. Instead, she knocks back what's left of her drink and contemplates asking Soul to let her do some shots. "They were stabbed to death. Actually," she chokes out, "they were just stabbed repeatedly. The coroner said they were probably still alive but unconscious when they were set on fire."

"Jesus Christ."

"Special attention was paid, he said, to the abdomen. They would have died anyway, without aid. But it would have been slow and agonizing even without the whole burning alive end of the deal."

"And Medusa was responsible for it?"

She won't look at him, but he can still see the wetness on her cheeks. "She might not have been the one to light them on fire, but we managed enough of a connection to get her arrested and on trial. But Arachnophobia-she-she's still out there."

"Yeah." He stands carefully, and takes her glass, and pretends that he doesn't notice the way her shoulders are curling in on themselves, or how damp her face is, or that she's starting to shake again. When he comes back, it's with two shot glasses and the vodka.

"I failed them. They were just kids-good kids with a lot of potential, and I failed them. I keep thinking that there was something I must have forgotten, some crucial piece of advice that I just-"

"Hey." He hands her one of the shot glasses, places a warm palm on her back. "You did what you could. Medusa is the one to blame here, not you, not anyone else."

She nods, and tries to put all of it back-the smell, the horror, the sick gnawing feeling in her gut as she approached the crime scene tape. "Yeah," she mumbles.

"What were their names, Maka?"

She finally looks up, and for a moment he can't breathe for the heartache writ large on her face, but he blinks and she blinks, and it's gone except for a little bit of dampness around her eyes.

"Chrona," she says. "Chrona and Ragnarock."

He holds up his shot glass, and she raises hers. "To Chrona and Ragnarock."

"They were good kids, good cops," she whispers, and he nods, and together they slam back their shots.

 


	8. Flip it and Reverse it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers and roommates and Black*Star, oh my.

Chapter 8- Flip it and Reverse it

* * *

She wakes up to the sound of her phone buzzing. Her mouth feels fuzzy and disgusting, and there's an icepick digging into her temples.

"Hnn _nng_  shut the fuck uuup," she mutters, fingers fumbling for her cell. She grabs it and answers with a growl, " _What_?"

"Maka?"

She blinks. "Tsubaki?"

"Maka! Where the hell are you? Is everything ok?"

"Huh? Yeah, everything's fine-"

" _Where are you_?" her roommate demands.

Maka blinks again, and stares at the coffee table. For a moment, she doesn't know how to respond, but the two shot glasses and the depleted bottle of vodka give her a clue, and she tamps down burgeoning panic. A quick glance tells her she's still fully clothed.

"Ah. Um-"

" _Maka_."

She winces at the sound of Tsubaki's ire. "I'm at Soul's. I fell asleep on the futon after work last night," she says. She can hear her sigh of relief over the phone.

"Ok, good. You scared the hell out of me! I know how dangerous this case is and I thought something might have happened and-"

"Thanks, Tsubaki. It's cool, I'm all right."

"Can you at least like... _call_ or something before you go spending the night with strange men?"

Maka rolls her eyes. "I didn't intend to stay. Also, he's strange, but ah, not really a stranger."

"You've known him for what, a day?"

"Technically longer," Maka mutters, rubbing at her eyes. They ache in her head, right along with everything else. She can practically  _hear_ the unimpressed stare Tsubaki gives her over the phone.

"I don't think that the, what-week, when you thought he was an insane danger to your mission and you stalked him counts, Maka."

"I did  _not_ stalk him," she hisses. "Can we not have this discussion right now? I'll be home in a bit, ok?"

Tsubaki snorts lightly. "I'll see you in a few, then."

Maka hears the silence of a line gone dead and checks the time. It's barely 9am.  _What the fuck, Tsubaki._ She shoves her phone into the pocket of her shorts, and hauls herself off the couch. The door to Soul's bedroom is shut, and she can see pale morning light streaming into the apartment. She rotates her neck and shoulders, wincing a little at the aching pops, and grabs the shot glasses and vodka, taking them into the kitchen.

Maka rinses the shot glasses and gets herself a glass of water in the process; she does try to keep the noise down, but she hears a faint creak and looks up to see Soul leaning against his bedroom doorframe. For a moment, there's a dryness in her throat and mouth that has nothing to do with the fact that she's hungover and didn't get to brush her teeth last night, and everything to do with the way the sunlight hits his tangled, wild hair and plays across his bare chest. Her eyes rake over his face and chest, cataloguing swollen skin and bruises that are just beginning to show.

He blinks at her blearily, and she blinks back, taking another long swig of water. It doesn't do much to help the dryness in her mouth. "Sorry," she manages eventually. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Soul shrugs and pushes himself off the doorframe, and she wonders if the apartment actually shrunk, or if it's just her, because suddenly he's in the shitty little kitchenette with her, and it's definitely not large enough for two people. "It's no big. I would have gotten up soon anyway." It's not exactly a lie, but Soul doesn't think Maka needs to know that he spent most of the night staring at the ceiling and trying not to recall in vivid detail the way her hips felt under his hands, or how her neck tasted as he pressed her up against the wall.

His eyes dart briefly to the glaring red hickey on the side of her neck, and he tries not to smile. He gives up completely when he notices that her eyes are having a hard time focusing on his face, and they keep...drifting. Maka is definitely staring at his chest-and his stomach? Experimentally, he slides a hand along his waistband and watches as her face gets pinker. His mouth stretches into a full blown smirk as he casually cups his junk and gives himself a good, lazy scratch. Maka's flush spreads all the way down to her chest. "See something you like?" He can't help himself.

Maka snaps her eyes back up to his face and takes in his lazy grin, and, despite the fact that she knows her cheeks are burning in embarrassment, manages to raise her chin and arch an eyebrow. "Nothing I'd write home about," she says. Maka isn't expecting his low chuckle in response.

"Kitten's feisty in the mornings, hm?"

" _Kitten_  is hung the fuck over," she replies, refilling her water glass. She gives him a little glare. "How's your  _face_? Been friendly with any more brick walls this morning?"

He ghosts a hand over his eyebrow and prods his lip, and grimaces a little. "No, thankfully. The one wall was enough."

Maka had been trying to distract him from the fact that she was staring. All she really manages is to fixate on his slightly swollen lip. "If it hurts, don't poke it, stupid," she mutters.

"I have a nasty habit of not being able to leave well enough alone," he chuckles.

 _That's the fucking truth_ , she thinks. What comes out is an eyeroll and, "I don't suppose you have something I could take for this hangover? Aspirin, ibuprofen?" His teeth flash in a grin, and she gives him a suspicious little glare.

"I think I can find something," he says, and then Maka realizes that what she had thought was close proximity before is nothing compared to now. Soul reaches past her, and she's treated to an up close and very personalized view of his surprisingly sculpted arms and tanned skin. She inhales sharply and realizes  _that_  was a mistake too because her nose is assaulted with the musky smell of  _guy_. It's a little sweat, a little deodorant, and something that she's starting to associate strictly with Soul. "Here you go." Still smirking, he drops a bottle of Excedrin into her palm and exits her orbit. She lets out the breath she forgot that she was holding and scowls a little before knocking back two pills and chugging the glass of water.

"Thanks," she murmurs, and rinses her glass. "Thanks for letting me crash, too. I know it's not far to my place, but last night, and-"

"Hey, it's cool. No problem," he replies, and Maka is convinced that he's leaning against the counter like that on purpose now, because people don't just... _lounge_ all over things, shirtless and barefoot with sinful bed hair. "Thanks for cleaning up."

"It was the least I could do, especially after-" she waves her hand at the vodka bottle. "Anyway, Tsubaki called earlier wondering where I was, so..."

"Your roommate?"

"Yeah." Maka skirts around him in the narrow space, just managing to not touch him or to blush any harder, and jams her feet into her boots. "She's gonna be pissed if I'm not back soon."

"Protective much?"

Maka gives him an odd little smile. "I told you, she knows who I am, and what I do. It's nice to have someone to look out for me, you know?"

He doesn't know, not really, but he nods anyway. The best he's got is the field office, but he's usually the one to contact them. He shudders to think that Black*Star would probably the first person to know if something happened to him-and Soul's not entirely sure if it would be because he was missed or because Black*Star would be involved. It's a strange feeling, one that he hasn't bothered to face since he first took this job.

"You all right?"

"Hm? Yeah." Soul gives her a little smile and pushes those thoughts back to the back of his brain. In the long run, it doesn't really matter, he thinks.

* * *

Tsubaki is waiting for her when she slips in the front door. Maka isn't expecting breakfast, especially after the frantic phone call from her roommate this morning, but a pot of coffee at least would have been nice. Instead, the dark-haired woman sits on one of their barstools and barely refrains from impatient foot tapping.

Her arms are crossed though, Maka notes, and she knows the foot tapping will not be far behind. Maka eases past Tsubaki and into the kitchen towards the coffee pot. She's almost made it when the tapping starts. Maka's never made a pot of coffee so fast in her life.

She's just flicked the button to "On" when she hears Tsubaki inhale.

"You spent the night? With the guy who you were convinced was going to completely blow your cover and get you killed up until what? Yesterday morning?"

Maka flushes a little. "It wasn't like that, I told you. I was tired and we were drinking-" One sculpted eyebrow shoots up. "It was a really bad day, ok?" As swiftly as it's aroused, Tsubaki's ire dies down.

"What happened?"

By the time Maka finishes relaying the relevant, somewhat edited, details of her day, the coffee's done, and she feels completely exhausted again. Tsubaki accepts the mug Maka hands her and takes a sip. "Medusa, huh? I suppose that explains the liquor." She looks at her friend critically. "Are you going to be ok?" Maka takes another sip, mumbling into her coffee mug. Tsubaki narrows her eyes. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Maka coughs a little. "I said that we ah, might have done shots. Like. A lot of shots." There is a heavy sigh from her roommate, but Maka catches the fleeting hint of a smile.

"Did you at least outdrink him?"

She grins wide, "Clear under the table."

"Good girl."

Tsubaki sits with her as Maka makes a couple of pieces of toast for breakfast. She understands  
the implications of Maka's discoveries, perhaps better than anyone else. Tsubaki remembers the tense silences, late nights and insomnia. It had been nearly a month before Maka stopped having nightmares every time she closed her eyes. She refused time off, stayed late, did everything in her power to make sure that Medusa was stopped, and it hadn't been enough. Watching that woman walk out of the courthouse a free woman was almost as traumatic for her as losing her rookie trainees had been. Tsubaki is relieved to see not fear or anger in her roommate's eyes this time, but calm determination. She glances over at her best friend. "You know I just worry, right?"

Maka gives her a little smile that she can't quite decipher. "Yeah, Tsubaki. I know." She soaks up a little bit of melted butter with the last bite of her toast. "We're partners now, though. That's gotta mean something in my line of work."

"After a day?" Tsubaki hates the way that comes out, petulant and skeptical, but it needs to be said.

Maka doesn't know if she can explain it to Tsubaki. There is something sacred about a partner, a level of implicit trust and acceptance that it would normally take months to build up. It was made abundantly clear to Maka last night that they don't have the luxury of months to get used to each other. It's been all or nothing ever since she arrested him, and he's already proven he can come through for her.

She settles on, "It's hard to explain," and doesn't look away from Tsubaki's worried gaze. After a moment, the brunette nods, and Maka knows that they're best friends for a reason-that her friend, skilled as she is as a psychologist, doesn't need her diploma to understand Maka and her issues and the weight of her decision to trust Special Agent Soul Evans.

"Alright, then. I've got your back if you need me."

"I know." Maka returns her smile, and wonders how she managed to keep a friend so amazing. "I think I'm going to lay down for a bit." She rinses her plate and mug and throws them unceremoniously into the dishwasher.

"Still hungover?" Tsubaki grins at Maka's half-hearted glare. "That's not a bad idea, actually. I might join you."

"Suit yourself," she says, eyes on the prize that is her welcoming mattress. Tsubaki's door is open, and as she passes it, dimly she notes Tsubaki's bed is still made, and thinks it odd that her roommate, now sharing a night shift with her, might be awake at the ungodly hour of 9 AM. She glances back at Tsubaki, whose face is beginning to pinken.

"Tsubaki-was there a particular reason you're up so early?"

"I, ah, couldn't sleep," she stammers, face getting redder, "Have a good napgoodnight." The words tumble out in a barely comprehensible rush, and then Tsubaki is breezing past her, the door to her room clicking shut, and leaving a very suspicious Maka in her wake. She shakes her head and determines that she'll pry out whatever it is Tsubaki's trying to cover up later.

* * *

She wakes to the sound of her phone buzzing again, chasing fleeting images of tan skin, a hot, sharp mouth, and cool walls from her mind. Blearily, Maka wonders if this is, in fact, what hell is like.

"Hello?" Maka tries to keep the irritation out of her voice, and is pretty sure she fails spectacularly.

"Honey?" Maka blinks blearily.

"Liz? 'sat you?"

"Yeah. You free later?"

"Um, I think? Gotta go in to Chupa Cabra's tonight, though." She's not exactly firing on all cylinders, but there's something in her contact's voice that indicates a moderate level of urgency.

"I'll meet you at the coffee shop, say, 4?"

"Yeah, I can do that," she mumbles, staring at the blinking red of her digital clock.

"See you then," Liz singsongs, and then there's a dial tone, and Maka is left wondering if that conversation actually happened at all.

"Fuckit," she mumbles and rolls out of bed. She at least managed a couple more hours of sleep. Another cup of coffee and a hot shower will hopefully erase the last vestiges of her hangover, and then she can focus more fully on what the hell Liz might want that's so important.

* * *

It's not the buzzing of his phone that startles Soul out of his sleep, but the crash it makes as it buzzes itself and several dollars worth of change right off the coffee table. He sits up, hand going for a gun that isn't there. Belatedly, he realizes he's still in his sleep pants, and his gun is still on his nightstand.

He appears to be developing a habit of crashing on the futon, and he's not sure that his neck is going to be able to take it. Soul blithely ignores the fact that he laid down after Maka had scooted out the front door, and fell asleep with the smell of her in his nose. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.

The phone buzzes again, insistent in its reminder that he has an unread text. Soul grunts and gropes for the phone before squinting at the message. He's completely unsurprised to see that it's from Black*Star. And completely in caps, too.

_BURGERS, BITCH. THEN WE FIND THOSE FUCKERS WHO TOOK OUR SHIT. SEE U IN 10._

Soul remains mystified that his boss can punctuate every sentence, but refuses to type out "you." Every. Time. He rolls the rest of the way off the couch and stumbles into the bathroom. If he's lucky, he can probably at least get most of yesterday's funk off and some of the ache out of his muscles before the Black*Star Mobile arrives in all its obnoxious glory.

* * *

She slips out of the shower and hopes that Tsubaki hadn't planned on using it anytime soon. Maka is fairly certain that she managed to use up every ounce of hot water. On the plus side, she's starting to feel like a real girl once again. It is a sacrifice for the greater good, she decides, and pulls on a pair of faded jeans and a tank top. She tries to stuff her feet into her boots as she scrawls a quick note to her roommate, and then grabs her hoodie as she heads out the door.

Maka checks her mail on the way out of the lobby and frowns. It's been several days since she'd sent off her last report to Kid, and even with-hell, especially with-the changes that have occurred, she had expected to get  _something_ back from him by now, even if it was just a "Carry on" note. She was hoping at least to get those records on Black*Star and see if there was something there she could use, or with Soul's help, something that she could add. She sighs and shuts the box. It is Saturday, after all. Whatever he might have sent probably won't arrive until Monday at least.

3:30 on a Saturday afternoon means the coffee shop is pretty chill. There are a few students from DCU around-she can tell from the frantic looks on their faces, hunched in towards laptops and over enormous science books, frantically finishing or starting the work that they'd ignored the rest of the week. She doesn't have to be a detective to discern that, though. She remembers being there, even if it feels like a lifetime ago, like the whole thing happened to a different person. In a way, she supposes that it did.

She takes her coffee to one of the tables outside to wait for Liz and curls up in a chair, knees nearly to her chin. The sun is still warm, even though fall is technically here, and it's days like today that she really misses being a day-dweller. She sips at the coffee, trying and failing to not burn her tongue when her phone goes off in her pocket. She glares mutely at the screen cheerfully telling her she has a new message from Soul.

She skims it quickly and raises an eyebrow.

_Investigating thugs w/B*S. Catch you up tonight, private room at CC's?_

It takes her a second to parse what Soul's trying to saying, but comprehension dawns and she grins a little. Maka is about to tap out a response when the scrape of metal on concrete sends a jolt of terror through her. She locks her phone automatically and looks up, eyes wide.

Liz shoots her a little grin from across the table and Maka exhales slowly.

"Hey there, Honey," she greets her warmly, and Maka returns the smile.

"Hey yourself." She shifts in her seat, takes a sip of her coffee. "What's new with you?"

"Mm, not much. Saw my boy today," Liz adds casually, and Maka tries not to visibly perk up. She'd seen Kid?

"Oh really? How's he doing?"

"He's great. Said that he took a look at the draft that you sent him, and had some feedback for you. He would have waited, but thought you might want it right away, given that your ah, deadline, has changed." Liz pulls out a neat manilla folder from her oversized purse, and Maka's heart feels like it's lodged in her esophagus. She wants to go ahead and open the folder and see what goodies Kid has managed to dig up for her, but she resists the urge and instead just smiles wider.

"That's great, Liz! Tell him thank you for me; I can't wait to go over it later."

Across the little cafe table, Liz gives her a smile and a wink. "I'll make sure that he knows."

"Thanks." Another sip of coffee, and Maka tries not to think about that folder. "How's Pattie doing?"

"She went to go visit Cherry today. She's still in the hospital."

"Still? I would have thought she would at least be out and at home by now."

"Nah. They're keeping her for observation." Liz is a little  _too_ nonchalant about the whole thing, and Maka narrows her eyes. "Pattie's hoping she can provide some encouragement."

"Is she coming back to work?"

Liz shrugs. "I'm not sure, to be honest." They exchange glances, and don't talk about how they hope for Cherry's sake that she doesn't have to come back. There is a tension between them that's hard to define. Maka is acutely aware of the fact that, no matter what her job consists of currently, this isn't her life, her reality. Not really, anyway. Though she lives dangerously, ultimately she is playacting at a life that is everyday normal for Liz and Pattie and Cherry, and the hundreds of girls like them across the city. She shifts uncomfortably until Liz gently grabs her wrist. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sure she'll be fine," she says. Maka wants to argue, but there is a sharp understanding in Liz's eyes, and instead she nods.

"I'm sure you're right."

"Of course I am," she says briskly. Liz leans in with a predatory smile. "Now, tell me what Blair was going on about with you and the scrumptious Eater."

Maka can feel her face flush at the description, but she gives Liz a little smirk. Telling Blair about her new "relationship" had been an even better decision than she could have hoped for.

"What can I say? He turned out to be a very like-minded individual."

* * *

The warehouse looks effectively the same as it did yesterday, which is to say still run down and faintly menacing. Soul's body aches just thinking about their run in with the gang. Or maybe it's the cheap burgers they wolfed down earlier.

"So you dragged me all the way out here,  _again_ , to track down the guys who jumped us?"

"Of course!"

Soul rolls his eyes. "That has got to be the stupidest fucking thing-"

"The hell it is! It's  _brilliant_! We're going to track those fuckers down and take back Giriko's shit. I want that asshole off my back."

Soul lets out a little frustrated huff and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. If he's being realistic, it's not that bad of an idea, especially not since it came from Black*Star. The problem is, Black*Star is almost preternaturally lucky, and the last thing that Soul wants is for him to find any clues that will lead them to the mysterious thugs.

He keeps a sharp eye out as they leave Black*Star's vehicle. The pavement of the abandoned lot is still cracked and broken, resilient weeds adding a surprising amount of greenery to the tableau. Soul remembers there being a lot more blood yesterday, and wonders just how much of it was soaked up by the pavement and those resilient little weeds.

"So when you called the Cleaner yesterday, what'd he say?"

Black*Star scowls. "He said when he got here, there wasn't anything." He kicks viciously at one of the weeds.

"What,  _nothing_?"

"Nothing. Why do you think Giriko was tryna crawl up our asses last night?"

"Dunno, I figured he just liked the view," Soul retorts, attempting to examine the ground in a way that won't make him look like he's actually investigating. Black*Star lets out a hearty guffaw, and Soul cracks a small smile.

He's not perhaps the best the FBI has to offer when it comes to tracking people, but Soul's got a head for strategy and tactics, and he has a clear memory of how the ill -advised fight from yesterday went down. He's standing in a spot that, by all rights, should have had a  _lot_ of blood. Even assuming evaporation and blood thirsty weeds, there should have been some evidence left. Instead, the ground is eerily clean-especially for broken up pavement.

Soul keeps his mouth shut and trails behind his boss for hours. The warehouse is the first in a small chain of neglected and abandoned warehouses that Soul hadn't paid attention to during their first trip out here. For his part, Black*Star stomps around the entirety of the warehouse, inside and out, but doesn't seem to pay much mind to the other buildings or their surroundings. It isn't as though he's stupid, Soul thinks, just that he's so focused on finding something he's sure is there, that he completely overlooks clues that should be screaming at him. Soul files it all away for later, and makes non-committal noises.

"Dude, you are not very helpful," Black*Star comments.

Soul shrugs. "It's not really my thing. I have no idea what you're even trying to find. How can I look for something if I don't know what it is?"

"Man you'll just  _know_."

"It's getting dark, man. I don't think we're gonna find whatever it is in the dark, even if you  _did_ know what it was." He says it as casually as possible. He knows what Black*Star can be like if he gets something stuck in his head, and Soul has exactly no desire at all to spend the bulk of his evening wandering around a warehouse they've already been over and possibly destroying what clues he was able to find in the first place. Black*Star lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh, and Soul resists the urge to do a victory dance.

"Yeah, all right. Fuckit. I'm hungry again anyway. Let's go get some grub."

* * *

Soul's not entirely sure what he was expecting when Black*Star pulls into the diner parking lot, but he's not expecting his boss to wipe his palms on his pants and shoot Soul a slightly panicked look.

"How do I look?"

Soul's eyebrows creep towards his hairline. "Uh... _fiiiiiiiine_?" Black*Star nods once, and grins, and then he's out of the SUV and Soul's scrambling to follow, lest Black*Star decide to lock him in the car again for "being slow."

Black*Star's shoulders tense and he pauses right before the door, takes a deep breath, and squares his shoulders. It looks strange and out of place, Soul thinks, the idea that there's something that Black*Star has to prepare himself for-something that he's nervous over. The bell over the door rings pleasantly, and they're greeted with the scent of deliciously greasy diner food, kitschy 1950's decor, and the bright, sincere smile of a gorgeous waitress.

"Hi, welcome to Joe's~"

Black*Star straightens a little and  _swaggers_ over to the counter, pulling up a stool. The waitress, Soul vaguely recognizes her from a few of the other times they've eaten here, turns her megawatt smile on Black*Star.

"Hey, 'Baki."

Soul blinks. Is Black*Star...trying to pitch his voice deeper? What's even stranger is that it looks like it's working. The dark-haired woman blushes prettily and tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear.

"Hey, Black*Star." Their gazes linger a little  _too_ long on each other. "What can I get you two?"

"Coffee," Soul says, eyes sharp.

Black*Star grins at her, "Coke, please." The woman smiles again and bustles down the counter to the drink machine. Black*Star watches her go intently.

"Is this your 'bigger prize'?"

Black*Star punches him on the arm and Soul almost drops his menu. "Dude, shut the fuck up. I told you, she's different."

"And you were giving  _me_ shit about tapping a waitress?" Soul grins and Black*Star returns it.

" _My_  waitress isn't flat-chested and pissy, bro," he retorts. Soul rolls his eyes. A moment later, the woman returns with their drinks, and Black*Star turns his smile on her.

"Do you boys know what you want?"

"Yeah," Black*Star gives him a look. "You good, Eater?" If he hadn't been looking at her, Soul wouldn't have noticed the slight way her shoulders tense, and she darts her eyes to his. He blinks.

"I'll have my usual, 'Baki," Black*Star blurts out. She smiles and nods, but it looks a little forced.

"Patty melt and fries," Soul adds when she glances at him again.

"Allright. That'll be up shortly," she says and then she's gone. Soul doesn't miss the way Black*Star's gaze follows her again.

"Man, you really got it bad, huh?"

Black*Star hunches a little, and gives Soul a sidelong look. "I dunno what you're talking about. She's hot, that's all."

"You can't keep your eyes off of her, and  _you asked me how you looked_ before we came in here. That's serious, bro."

"Mebbe so. I dunno, she's just, really special. Tsubaki's the kind of woman who can really make a man like me shine even brighter."

That was downright poetic and a little disturbing, given that this was Black*Star. Soul shakes his head, smiling slightly. His coffee is halfway to his lips when a thought strikes him, and Soul stops.

"What did you say her name was, again?

"Tsubaki," Black*Star practically breathes her name.

_Fuck._

* * *

They roll up into the club a little later than normal thanks to their diner escapade, and Soul's first order of business is to find Blair. As a matter of course, once he needs to find the buxom woman, she's nowhere in sight. He stakes out the main bar and indicates to the bartender that he's looking for Blair. Eventually, he hopes, word will get back to her. As he waits, Maka finds him.

She looks irritated, but with her hair in pigtails and the crop-top and tiny gym shorts that comprise tonight's outfit, she looks more adorable than anything. She smiles, and it's warm but doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hey baby," he drawls.

"Hey. Where you been?" Ah,  _that_  is her issue.

"Black*Star wanted to eat out. Sorry I didn't get a chance to give you a heads up." She gives him a little smile, hand placed delicately on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her close. "You get my text earlier?" he whispers.

"Mm, yeah. Bambi met me for coffee though, and I didn't have a chance to text you back." She leans closer to reply, voice is low in his ear.

"We really need to talk," he mumbles.

"I  _know_ -"

"Oooh. What a precious little pair of lovebirds we have here~" Startled, Maka tries to back away from her partner, but Soul merely tightens his grip on her waist.

"Hello, Blair. I was looking for you."

The busty woman slides onto the barstool next to Soul, lips curling into a pleased grin. "So I heard. What did you wanna talk to me about, lover-boy?" She flicks a long strand of hair behind her shoulder in a practiced gesture.

"I wanted to see if I could get one of the VIP rooms." Maka wonders if Soul realizes that he's massaging small circles into her skin.

"A VIP room? Pumpkin, you don't need to ask me for that, you know."

"I do if I wanna pay to have a little...special entertainment." He squeezes Maka's side almost imperceptibly, and she lets out a vacuous little giggle. The corners of Blair's mouth twitch down slightly.

"I know our little Kitten is hot stuff, but this is getting out of hand." Soul and Maka blink and exchange a quick glance. "Normally, I would  _love_  to give you two a little private one-on-one,  _especially_  if I'm getting paid, but I'm already down a dancer, and I really can't be down a server too, and my little kitty cat here  _is_ a server, and that's what she's going to do." Blair slides right back out of her barstool, and gives them a look, nodding once as she decides something. "Yes, that's it. Tonight, you're going to have to get your pussy fix elsewhere, lover-boy. Or wait. Kitten is not up for private parties right now!"

Maka wonders if her face looks as red as it feels. She looks between Soul and Blair; there is a moment when she wants to panic, but she takes a shallow, steadying breath and puts on a pout instead. She curls in closer to Soul, drapes an arm around his shoulders, and presses her body flush against his. Maka focuses on Blair and tries to ignore the way she can feel Soul's every breath and the thudding of his heart as she trails light fingers over his chest.

"But Blaaaair~ Can't I keep him? Just for a little bit?" Soul's grip on her waist tightens.

"No, and you can stop pouting. I don't care how adorable you are, I am putting my foot down!" She stamps one delicately heeled foot for emphasis. "As long as you're a server, no more private pants parties at work!"

She's on the verge of gaping at her boss, but Soul merely chuckles and presses a quick kiss to her collarbone. "If you say so. I guess I can wait for my pussy cat," he says, mouth stretched wide in a shit-eating grin. Oh, she is going to punch him for that later.

"Yes, I think you can. And," she adds slyly, "in the meantime, you can still enjoy a private room with one of our lovely,  _available_ ladies."

Soul makes a neutral noise that could be agreement, or perhaps not, but Maka seizes on Blair's words, mind working furiously over the problem. If they can't meet while she's at work, at least she can still get Soul to grab that bug-and she knows just how, too. She tightens her grip on Soul's shoulder.

"We'll see," he replies. Maka plays up her pout a little more, and clings closer.

"Can you give us a minute, boss?"

Blair gives her a little smile and a knowing wink. "Make it quick, Kitten, I see some unattended tables out there."

"Mm, thank you," she practically purrs, then she's hopping onto Soul's barstool, firmly planting her ass on his lap. She hears Blair laugh as she turns to leave.

"M-Kitten, what-" He wraps his arms around her hips reflexively, pulling her closer and keeping her from shifting too much. She can hear his heartbeat increase as she wraps her arms around his neck, and presses her lips close to his ear.

"Listen," she breathes almost too quiet to hear, "I need you to hit up Giriko's usual room and retrieve the bug. It's in the track lighting above the minibar." She wiggles against him just a little, and he tightens his grip, lips planted at the juncture of her jaw and her neck.

"I can't go in by myself." He squeezes her ass, and she giggles. It sounds like a gunshot in his ears.

"Get Bambi, tell her I sent you," she follows up. He pulls back just far enough to give her a skeptical look, she darts in and presses her lips to his with a soft, "Trust me."

His mouth doesn't ache quite as badly as it did yesterday, and he finds her lips all the more enjoyable for it. He tries not to contemplate what kissing Maka would feel like without the remnants of a split lip, and kind of hopes that he gets a chance to find out. Lips still moving against his, she slides out of his lap.

He breaks the kiss and murmurs a soft, "Okay." She gives him a little grin, and tugs him off of the chair.

"She's got a free set now," Maka says at normal volume. "You should be able to catch her."

"Okay, okay. Jesus, woman. Never seen a girl so eager for me to get a lapdance from another woman before." He turns to go, and she gives him a prim slap on the ass.

"Gotta keep you entertained until I can get off later."

He shoots her a wicked smirk that has nothing to do with their respective roles, and she rolls her eyes and grins. "Yes ma'am," is all he says before disappearing into the crowd. She watches him go and hopes that whatever it is he needs to talk to her about can wait until later tonight.

* * *

The situation is more familiar than he would like it to be, but instead of him sitting in a chair and waiting for his evening's entertainment/interview, he's staring at row of track lighting and wondering if he can find and get Maka's bug down before Bambi gets in. He's not had much experience with the dancer-a couple of notable conversations. He assumes that she's Maka's informant on the inside, but he's not sure how much she knows, and he'd rather err on the side of caution.

He thinks he can get the bug down. He wants a chair, but they're all all bolted down or part of a sofa. With a grumble, he clamors onto the minibar and hopes that it holds under his weight. Without its assistance, he's too short to reach the track lights; with it, he has to hunch to not slam his head into the ceiling. He's just spotted the damn thing when the door opens a crack and he freezes.

Bambi slips in the door, and for a brief moment, Soul holds out the hope that she won't notice him, awkwardly crouched on the minibar like a really bad version of Batman. It's unrealistic, he knows, and after a moment, she notices him. To her credit, she doesn't shriek or yell, just closes the door and raises two perfectly cultivated eyebrows at him.

"Do I want to know?"

"Kitten said to tell you she sent me?"

She laughs lightly. "I figured as much. She told me earlier that you two had...a  _lot_ in common, and she was lucky to have found a partner like you."

Soul somehow doubts that Maka phrased it quite like that. "We really do." He goes ahead and pulls down the bug and holds it up for her to see. Bambi nods. He hops down and does a quick sweep of the room. Maka didn't mention that she had put in any other devices, but Soul doesn't trust Arachnophobia not to attempt to keep tabs on its own members. It takes him a few minutes, but there's nothing that he can find, and he gives her a nod. Even still, Bambi keeps her voice low.

"That's it. Kitten thinks it might have something nice and valuable on it."

Soul nods and slips it into his pocket. He's not sure what the little bug might have caught, but hopefully it has what Maka hopes is on it. They could really use a break. He glances at the dancer. They've only managed to kill about fifteen minutes.

"So, ah. What do we do now?"

She grins. "How do you feel about cards?"

* * *

Soul's waiting for her when she gets done with her shift. Most of the lights are shut down, and she slides out the back door quickly and quietly. If she hadn't been paying attention, he might have gotten the drop on her, but her senses have been on high alert since Giriko's presence stopped being merely irritating and started being threatening. She gives him a little grin when he oozes out of the shadows, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Gonna have to try harder than that if you want to get the drop on me."

He returns her smile as they start to walk. "I'll work on that. Rough night?"

She rolls her neck. "What makes you say that?"

"Dunno, probably cause I didn't manage to catch more than a glimpse of you after our little talk with Blair."

"Well, you know Saturday nights." He hums in agreement, and she gives him a little look. "Did you have fun with  _Bambi_?"

Soul shakes his right hand pocket at her and gives her a little smirk. "We had a pretty productive time of it. She taught me how to play Bridge." Maka can't tell whether or not he's joking and isn't sure if she wants to know anyway. But she shakes her head, glad that he managed to get the bug. It's about time they got some kind of break.

"You said we needed to talk?"

"Yeah, but it can wait until we get back to my place. Had a pretty illuminating day all around."

She doesn't like the grim tone of his voice; it sets off those little alarm bells in the back of her head, but if it's something sensitive, she can wait. The night is cool, especially after the heavy, enclosed atmosphere of the club, and for once Maka doesn't mind that the buses don't run this late. Even still, she keeps a sharp eye out as they walk back to Soul's apartment, and is reassured to see that he does similarly.

When he shuts the door to his efficiency, they both let out a small sigh, and Soul heads straight for the kitchenette and the coffee pot. Maka snatches up her notebook from its hiding place.

"You got a computer we can use?"

"Yeah. It's in my room." He waves in the general direction of his door, and Maka takes that as permission; she pushes the door open the rest of the way and peers in. The only nice piece of furniture is the bed. Everything else looks like it might have been salvaged from various dumpsters around town. It reminds her of the first apartment she and Tsubaki rented when they were both still in school. More than that though, she's shocked by how tidy everything is, especially given the comparative sloppiness of the rest of his apartment. There are no clothes strewn across the floor, no kicked off shoes or funky laundry. In fact, the messiest thing is the bed, with its tangled sheets and pillows flung everywhere. How many pillows does one person need anyway?

On the plus side, the unexpected neatness means that it's easy for her to find the laptop in question. She grabs it and heads back into the living room. Soul's already on the futon with two cups of coffee. He holds the bug up to the light.

"Hard to believe this little thing could hold so much valuable information, huh?"

She plops down next to him. "Yeah. If we're lucky, we're going to use that little sucker to put away Giriko." She opens up the laptop and passes it over to Soul. He gives her a surprised look.

"You actually think he's given something away in that room?"

Her smile is tight and controlled. "No. I think he committed assault and battery on a defenseless woman, and I think we got video evidence."

"Are you sure that's going to be enough?" He wants it to be enough, but working in the FBI, he's seen too many Girikos go through the system on lesser charges only to walk free.

She shoots him a look out of the corner of her eye. "I don't know. Liz- _Bambi_ -brought me info from Kid today." He raises an eyebrow. "I asked for some background on your little pal Black*Star before we, ah. Partnered up." Soul stiffens almost imperceptibly next to her, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Part of what Kid sent included some more info on Cherry. If this little thing has the video evidence, she's agreed to testify against him."

"She'd do that?"

"For the chance to get out of here and start a new life? Yes." Maka rolls her shoulders. "You're right, though. I don't know that it will be enough. I don't think we can make Giriko squeal on Medusa if we haul him in. I think Arachnophobia's still got too much power to throw around. He feels safe." She clenches a fist. "I don't know how to make him  _afraid_ , and I really want to."

She's not expecting the warm hand on her shoulder. "I know. I'd like to make that little shit afraid, too." He squeezes lightly, and she gives him a small, wan smile.

"I know. And I know that we gotta focus on the bigger picture, too. If we can't get him to roll, and can't keep him-"

"We'll figure out something. I don't think this is going to be a waste of our time, for what that's worth." On the coffee table, the little laptop whirs slowly to life. "Sorry, it's government issue."

Maka chuckles and sips her coffee. "So what's the scoop you've been so antsy about tonight?"

He keeps his gaze focused on the laptop. "I think we stand a good chance of following up on those thugs who stole Giriko's package. Black*Star and I went back by the warehouse today. He didn't really seem to know what to look for, and I didn't point out what I found, but I think you and I should head back there tomorrow and see what we can follow up on."

"Mm. That's not a bad idea." She smiles and stretches a little. "I could really get behind some good old fashioned police work."

"I'm sure that could be arranged. You wanna meet me here tomorrow around 2 and we'll go check it out?"

Maka nods. "Sounds good. Maybe we can catch another break. That would be nice." She looks down at the bug again. "If this doesn't turn up anything useful, I think I'm going to scream," she confides.

"I don't blame you." Soul shifts a little and takes a sip of his coffee. He needs to tell her about Black*Star and Tsubaki, but he's not ever seen the woman before. It's been in the back of his mind all day; he could be wrong. It could be a different Tsubaki, and he doesn't particularly want to alarm her for no reason. Next to him, she twitches and squeaks a little. "You, ah? Ok?"

"Jesus,  _yes_. It's just my-" she squirms a little and digs out her phone from her pocket, "-fucking  _phone_. Who the hell-" She stops suddenly, eyes skimming across the screen.

_Maka, I need you home now. Please._

The quick, terse words make her heart skip. Maka taps out a response and shoves her phone back in her pocket, a sense of panic rising in her throat. Tsubaki knows where she is, and Maka can't think of a single reason that doesn't inspire terror for why Tsubaki would need her home so urgently.

"Everything ok?" Soul's voice is low and calming.

"Genuinely? I don't know. It's Tsubaki. I gotta go, ok?" She's already up out of her seat, and heading towards the door.

"What? I can take you home if it's urgent," he offers, and she can see the way he screams FBI now, all alert attention and precise movements. She offers a small smile.

"No, it's close enough, I can run it. I need you to look at that footage, ok?" He nods.

"Let me know-"

"If I need back up, I'll let you know. If something's wrong, Tsubaki should know where my gun is in the apartment-"

Soul strides over to the kitchen and pops open a drawer, pulling out a 9mm. "Here, take my spare. You have no idea what you might be going into." He does a swift, practiced check of the clip and the chamber, makes sure the safety's on, and hands it over.

Her smile is genuine as she takes it. "Thanks, Soul."

She's out the door and running before he can reply.

 


	9. A Friend in Need's a Friend Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward conversations over tea.

Chapter 9: A Friend in Need's a Friend Indeed

* * *

Maka runs. It isn't far between her apartment and Soul's, and she's off like a shot, feet pounding, breathing steady-it's remarkably similar to the morning runs she used to take before this whole mess, except for the frantic jolt of  _worry_  for her roommate. She takes a few alley shortcuts that she wouldn't even consider taking at this time of night normally, cop or not, and then she's there. Her first urge is to take the stairs as fast as she can, but there's no telling what might be waiting for her at the top.

It could be a trap. Perhaps, despite her caution, she's been found out, and they're luring her back to her apartment using Tsubaki-she stops herself. There's no use getting carried away, she tells herself and finds it much easier to say than to believe. Maka double checks Soul's gun, and takes a few deep, calming breaths before taking the stairs quickly, but quietly. She sees no one in the halls, which is unsurprising given the time of night, but still reassuring to a small degree. The door doesn't appear to be damaged in any way.

She tries the knob gently, but it's still locked. Fumbling for keys as quietly as she can, she turns the lock and holds her breath, waiting for the soft click of tumblers falling into place. Maka exhales softly-doorknob again, then a careful shoulder against the wood, gun up and ready-she inches the door open. Their living room comes into view in pieces-coat rack, tv, coffee table, Tsubaki's feet...she can't see anyone next to her, but she doesn't want to take the chance. She continues to scan the room, door slipping open silently.

"Oh, Maka!" Tsubaki is up and off the couch the moment she notices her roommate, and Maka has just enough time to put the safety back on Soul's gun before Tsubaki is grabbing her and pulling her the rest of the way into the apartment.

"Tsubaki, are you alright? What happened?" Maka makes sure that the door is locked before setting down the 9mm on the coffee table. Her roommate's eyes are red-rimmed, but mostly dry.

"I think I've made a huge mistake," she says, slumping back down onto the couch. Of all the scenarios that had flashed through Maka's head on her panicked sprint home, this was not one of them.

"What? Why?" Maka makes the switch from cop to best friend with only a little difficulty. "Do I need to hurt someone?" Ok, so perhaps a little more difficulty than she had initially thought.

Tsubaki's stuttered, "I-I don't know," chills her. "I've been...seeing someone and it was going really well."

Maka definitely senses a "but" about to occur. "Is this a thing that I should be getting us wine for?" she asks. Tsubaki shakes her head as she takes a deep breath.

"No, no. It's..." she lets out a sigh. "I'm just going to get this all out at once, ok?"

"Ah, okaay?"

Next to her, Tsubaki shifts slightly, and Maka does the supportive-best-friend-hand-rest-on-the-knee. "So there was this guy who started coming into the diner a while back, sometimes by himself and sometimes with a friend, and he was a little strange and kind of loud, but he was always a gentleman to me, and in the diner that's not a thing that really happens a lot, you know?" Maka nods. "He...asked me out a few times, and I said no, and he kept asking-but not in that creepy way that some guys do-he was really sweet and kept finding different ways to ask and he made me laugh, and I finally said yes."

She takes a deep breath, and Maka squeezes her hand, intent on her roommate's face. "-Did he try something? Do I need to bust his kneecaps or call the precinct down on him?"

"N-no-" It's not quite the firm denial that Maka expects, and the foreboding feeling in her stomach increases. "No, I mean, he really  _was_  a gentleman. He took me out a couple of times, and..." Tsubaki's face went scarlet.

"Oh.  _Ohhh_." She's not upset so much as surprised. Her roommate hides her face in her hands and nods. Tsubaki's unmade bed, her early morning phone call-it's obvious in a way that makes Maka want to hide her own face.

"I  _know_ ," she mumbles into her palms.

While she's never known Tsubaki to be the girl who goes in for casual sex, she's not entirely sure that she understands what, precisely, the problem is. By her roommate's own words, everything was consensual, and Tsubaki's an adult, fully capable of making her own choices about who and when and where she has sex. Maka is not by nature a delicate person, and she can't stop herself as she blurts, "And why's this a problem?"

Tsubaki's cheeks are damp when she finally looks back up. "It's  _not_! That's the problem!" Maka didn't think it was possible to be more confused. "I mean the sex was- _wow_ , but that's not the point. The point is that he came into the diner tonight!"

Maka blinks. The adrenaline coursing through her system slowly begins to dissipate as it becomes readily more apparent that her best friend is distraught but not actually in danger. "And you didn't want to see him?"

"No, no I wanted to see him." Tsubaki's look is pained. "What I didn't want to see was  _Soul_  with him."

Her heart stutters for a moment, stops, and then double times. "What." Even to her ears, her voice sounds flat and hard. There had been only one other person Soul had been out with tonight besides her. Next to her, Tsubaki winces.

"He-I didn't know-"

Maka takes a breath, deep but shallow. Her gut reaction is to lash out at her friend-this is the kind of thing that ruins cases, that endangers people. Except that Tsubaki's  _not_  a cop like Maka is, and she would never have done anything that would endanger them or their case intentionally, and that what she's really mad at is herself.

"I know, Tsubaki," she manages, voice surprisingly level. "It's ok. You're  _sure_  you're all right?"

She hangs her head again. "He really was a perfect gentleman," she wails. Maka works hard to keep the skeptical look off her face. It  _has_  to be Black*Star, but she can't quite reconcile the concept of "gentleman" with the brash and bawdy mobster that she's become acquainted with.

"And you're  _sure_  it was Soul?" she asks instead.

"I've never seen him before, but you've described him enough, and Black*Star called him 'Eater'. You know anyone else that goes by that name?"

It's Maka's turn to wince. She had been holding out a little bit of hope, but Tsubaki confirms her fears. "You just called him Black*Star, didn't you?" Tsubaki nods. Maka bites back a sigh. "Then it had to be Soul he was with." That feeling of failure is back; she had wanted Tsubaki to help her do a loose profile of Black*Star, but in the upheaval of her new partnership, and the fact that Kid had just gotten back to her with the thug's file-it had never happened. And now this. "Has he ever come here?"

Tsubaki shakes her head. "No, never. He doesn't even know the address or building."

"Good." She still kind of wants to yell at someone, preferably herself. "I'd better call Soul and let him know what's going on."

Tsubaki nods her agreement, head hanging in her hands again. She peeks through her hair at Maka, gesturing at the coffee table. "Is that-that's not your gun, is it?"

Maka pauses, the borrowed glock mocking her from the coffee table. "Um."

The brunette perks up a little. "Did Soul lend you his  _gun_?"

"Maybe." She refuses to acknowledge the fact that she can feel the back of her neck flushing slightly. A cop's gun is tantamount to a sacred item. She doubts that that's much different for FBI guys. "It's a spare," she mumbles, hitting Soul's speed dial. Tsubaki just gives her a little grin, even if it's a fraction of what it is normally. Maka's glad to see it, but still scowls a little at her. "I  _still_  can't believe you slept with Black*Star," she deflects.

On the other end of the line, the ringing stops and Soul's shocked voice says, " _What_?"

* * *

Tsubaki makes the three of them tea; Maka's not even sure how that happened exactly, just that one minute she'd been letting her partner in, and the next, Tsubaki had escaped to put on the electric kettle.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me!" Maka hisses at her partner, barely resisting the urge to prod him in the ribs.

Soul at least has the grace to look abashed. "I was going to mention it when we got to the club, but then Blair and-"

"You could've texted me."

"I wasn't positive! All I had to go on was her name, and that doesn't seem like the kind of thing that you send a text message to your partner about unless you're absolutely sure!"

She admits that he does at least have a point, though grudgingly. "I don't like being blindsided by this stuff. Besides, how many 'Tsubaki's can there be in this city?"

"I wanted to be  _sure_ ," he huffs, and Maka relaxes her arms a little.

"I suppose not much could have been done at that point, anyway," she concedes. Maka scoots her papers out of the way as Tsubaki tries to set down three coffee mugs full of something that smells honeyed and soothing and a little leafy. Soul takes one of the mugs from her in a manner that Maka can only describe as gentlemanly. It looks foreign, but not strange, and the thought sets Maka's head spinning just a little.

Tsubaki claims the armchair, and curls up a little, hands wrapped around her mug. "I'm really sorry," she says again, and Maka winces.

"Tsubaki, there's nothing to be sorry about-"

"But I put you in danger!"

Maka gives her a little smile. "Not any more than we would be in normally." She means this to be a reassurance, but as soon as the words slip out of her mouth, she can tell that they're the exact wrong ones. Tsubaki's face clouds over in a way that she hasn't seen in-well, she knows to the day when the last time Tsubaki had had that particular look on her face. "That's not-I mean-"

The couch springs creak as Soul shifts and slurps a little from his mug. Maka shoots him a sideways glance that he doesn't quite know how to interpret. He breathes through a quiet sigh and sets down his mug.

"The fact of the matter is, Ms. Nakatsukasa-"

"Tsubaki." Even on edge, she's polite in her insistence.

"-Tsubaki. The fact of the matter is that our jobs involve a certain amount of danger." The look she gives him in unamused at best. "Which I know you know," he amends, "but all I can do is reassure you that you've not done any harm to our investigation or put your friend in any unnecessary danger." Soul gives her a small, soft smile. "I'm doing all that I can to keep Maka safe."

She doesn't look particularly convinced, but after a few tense moment, she nods. "All right. I will...not worry about it so much."

Maka frowns and half opens her mouth to object. She doesn't need  _Soul_  to keep her safe-but Soul's words look like they're actually having an effect on her roommate, and the last thing that she wants is for Tsubaki to feel guilty about a circumstance that was beyond her control. She clamps down on her initial response and stands with her mug, "We'll keep  _each other_  safe," she corrects.

Armed with her tea and multiple assurances, Tsubaki visibly begins to relax, and Maka feels her own tension lessen somewhat. She excuses herself to the kitchen.

"I wish I had more information to give," she says. "Ah-he really likes pie? He never really spoke about work. To be fair, I never really asked." She flushes a little and gives Soul a sidelong glance. "I can't believe that I didn't connect the dots, though."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Maka talks about me a lot, then?"

"I most certainly do _not_ ," Maka announces from the kitchen. She shuts off the faucet and dries her mug, deciding she doesn't like the burgeoning smirk on her partner's face one bit.

"She's maybe mentioned you once or twice," Tsubaki says, smiling slightly. Maka likes that particular smile on her roommate even less.

Soul chuckles and stands, taking his mug with him. "I'll just assume they were compliments, then."

"What on earth would make you assume that," Maka sniffs as he invades her space.

"Clearly it's because I'm so charming."

"You're obnoxious is what you are," she retorts, taking his mug from him. "Speaking of obnoxious, were you able to find anything on that bug?"

"I hardly had the chance. I'll finish analyzing it when I get back to my place."

Maka nods and turns off the faucet. Soul already has the dishrag out, and motions for the mug. She doesn't grumble when she hands it over, and she pointedly ignores the interested look that Tsubaki gives her from the living room. "Sounds good. I'll take a look at the dossier Kid sent me tonight and tomorrow, and see what else we can come up with on our friend Black*Star."

Tsubaki makes her way into the kitchen, and gives Maka a swift hug. "I'll go ahead and leave you two to talk business. I'm feeling pretty wiped."

Maka frowns a little. "You don't have to go, Tsubaki, Soul was just getting ready to head back."

"Mm, yeah. I got a lot of work to get through, still."

"No, it's fine...I appreciate you coming over, Soul," Tsubaki says with a smile and a slight incline of her head.

"It's no trouble at all," he replies, and then Tsubaki's out of the kitchen and shutting her door before Maka can protest. Beside her, Soul snorts faintly. "Fast exit," he comments mildly.

"She does that sometimes." Maka scowls a little at her completely unsubtle roommate's door. She runs Tsubaki's mug under the faucet. "I guess, if you wanted, we could go ahead and go over Black*Star's info tonight? There might be something on there that would have more context for you than me."

"As long as you're cool with waiting on analyzing the bug." He gives her a little grin, "And maybe making some popcorn?"

"I think I can wait a few extra hours, but I am not making you popcorn."

"Aw, c'mon. The popcorn would make me feel better," he wheedles when she ignores him, and Maka raises an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Really."

"You're ridiculous," she announces, but turns and rummages through a cabinet. She slings a bag of Orville Redenbacher at him. "Knock yourself out. I trust you can find the microwave alright." Maka thinks that maybe the smile he shoots her is worth the small hassle, and she'll just have to trust that he won't burn it. Besides, the last of the adrenaline is finally fading from her system, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little hungry as a result.

Maka takes a spare moment and detours into her room to grab a spare notepad and raid her desk for a working pen. She contemplates her sleep shirt in a heap next to her bed, but decides to forgo comfort for the moment.

Satisfied, she settles on the couch and waits for Soul, the smell of popcorn and the sight of the unopened folder taunting her. The microwave beeps, and Soul plops down next to her steaming bag in hand. He doesn't bother asking about a bowl, but he had brought some napkins. Maka cracks open the envelope as Soul shakes out some popcorn onto one of the napkins.

The dossier is smaller than she thought that it would be. The impression that she had gotten from the club and from Soul was one of Black*Star: Hardcore Badass. In her experience, hardcore badasses tended to have more on file than this. Maka found, however, that what it lacked in size was more than made up for in content

Black*Star, she learned, was very much a product of his environment. Brought up by his father until he was nearly six, that was apparently enough time to instill good old-fashioned gang values in him. Maka still remembers the infamous Star Clan gang and the worried looks her mother would give her father every time his division of the Bureau got called into to be active on RICO cases.

She also remembers when White*Star died, suddenly and mysteriously, and the Star Clan ceased to exist with startling speed. Maka hadn't thought about it in years, but as she reads over Black*Star's file, something tickles at the back of her brain. Something also tickles the side of her neck, and she exhales slowly, and tries very hard to ignore the way that Soul peers over her shoulder.

After his father's untimely death, Black*Star grew up in and out of foster care until age 16. His file contains an impressive list of juvenile misdemeanors and court appearances-destruction of property, trespassing-pretty standard, Maka notes. He was adopted at 16 by one Sid Barett, who Maka vaguely knows from talk around the precinct. Guy has a soft spot for rehabilitating troubled youth, and she can easily see why Sid had picked out Black*Star.

Not, she thought, that it did much good.

"Hey, go back a sec," Soul's voice breaks through her concentration. Her pen leaves a small splatter of ink, but doesn't affect any of her careful notes. She reins in her glare, but flips back the page. His breath smells like fake butter, and she gives up, pushing the pages into Soul's hands. She leans forward to scoop up a handful of still-hot popcorn and crunches it thoughtfully. Soul skims the page intently. "You know, I thought I might be able to add something to this, but this file has way more shit on Black*Star than I do."

Maka shrugs a little. "This is all early stuff. You wouldn't have been around for it, and as much as Black*Star seems to like the sound of his own voice, I can't really see him as the type to go mouthing off about his childhood."

"Mm." Soul points to a line on the first page. "Does this seem strange to you?" Maka leaned back and peered at the text. "The Star Clan just...what? Dissolved? Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

That tickling sensation is a little stronger. "No, it's-well, 'very unusual' doesn't really cut it. I don't know much about the crime rates for that particular era, either. I picked up bits and pieces from my dad, but..." she trails off, gives the paper another look. "What are the odds that no one would step up to take over the Star Clan?"

"They were well organized and entrenched in the area...I'd say pretty slim. I'd need to pull some of our gang task-force files to confirm, but if I'm remembering right, Star Clan had a solid rep for being rough and powerful. That's not the type of gang that just disappears."

She hums a little. "I'd be interested to see if there was any appreciable drop in crime after they disbanded."

Soul shoots her a small grin, eyes tracing the curve of her neck and the drape of her hair. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Maka crunches a few more pieces of popcorn, lost in her thoughts. There were a lot of possibilities and factors at work, but there was one thing that her head seemed to wrap around. "You're thinking that the Star Clan might have been the first gang to fall to Arachnophobia, aren't you?"

"I am," he says, irrationally pleased that she's just as quick witted as he had thought. Maka makes a thoughtful noise and sticks the tip of her tongue out just enough so that Soul can tell she's doing it. As far as he can tell, it's completely unconscious. It's also completely distracting.

"Interesting," she murmurs. "Can we use it?"

"I don't know," he admits. "The logic is sound, but we'd need something more concrete than a shared hunch." She frowns a little at that, tongue disappearing.

"Do you have contacts you can still get information from in the Bureau about the incident?"

"Maybe. What about your dad? Didn't you say that he worked that case?" Soul knows the minute it comes out of his mouth that he's said something wrong. Maka's shoulders tense and he can practically see the tic in her jaw.

"That's...not really an option," she says, words measured. She doesn't flinch from his gaze, doesn't glare. There is just a careful neutrality, and so he nods and says,

"I'll see if there's anything I can come up with."

She relaxes marginally and Soul glances down at his friend's file. It's weird in a way because that's what it feels like-his  _friend's_  file. He's struggled with the idea before a little-this concept that Black*Star is something more than the sucker who got him his "in" to Arachnophobia. He's loud and brash and obnoxious at the best of times, but he's also fierce in his loyalty. He thinks of the way the mobster stepped in against Giriko; Black*Star is a man who follows his own path, and Soul's come to accept the fact that he respects and considers Black*Star to be a friend. At the moment, aside from Maka, Black*Star is just about the only friend he has.

Briefly, he wonders if that's something they can use, and mentions it to Maka. She taps her pen against her lips, and he ignores the bad taste the words leave in his mouth.

"It's possible," she murmurs. "He works for Arachnophobia, but he's managed to keep his nose legally clean since he turned 18-I wonder how much he really cares about Arachnophobia and how much he's using them to get whatever it is he wants." Maka shoots him a ghost of a smile, but her eyes are piercing. "You're supposed to be his favored minion, aren't you? What does he really want?"

Soul's lips twist, but there's no humor in the expression. "That is the million dollar question, isn't it?" He rubs the bridge of his nose.

They spend another half an hour looking over Black*Star's written history, but it feels more like chasing their own tails than making any sort of progress. Maka sighs as she rereads the same sentence for the fourth time. Soul leans slightly and nudge her shoulder with his. "Call it a night?"

She jumps a little and gives him a wide-eyed look. "Um. Yeah. I think that's probably going to be for the best." Her lips quirk upwards. "I think I'm too tired to concentrate on this anymore."

"Me too." He stands, gives the dossier a faint glare. "I'm going to leave that with you for now, I think." He pauses and gives her a undecipherable look. "Are you going to be alright if I go ahead and take my gun back?"

Maka nods. "Yeah. I've got my own weapon, you know." She scowls a little. "This job makes it more than a little difficult to keep myself armed, though."

"I imagine it might be looked at a little funny if you came in with a glock strapped to your leg." He grins wickedly. "It'd be pretty fucking hot, though."

He isn't expecting her sly grin as she follows him to the door. "You have  _no_  idea." Soul swallows. He  _wants_  to have an idea, he realizes. "We still on for tomorrow?"

"Huh? Yeah," he shakes his head and shifts a little, grin fading. He's just barely not scuffing his feet on the rug. "I was thinking I could just swing by tomorrow? Instead of you coming by my place?"

She crosses her arms. "Is this because of some misguided notion of chivalry-that you want to check up on us?"

"No, just me being your partner and looking out for you and yours." Well, when he phrases it like that-

"You can swing by and pick me up," she concedes.

He gives her a toothy grin. "Good. See you around 2:00."

Maka locks up the door behind him, and gives the dossier and the empty bag of popcorn on the table an unimpressed stare before shuffling into her bedroom.

 


	10. Flashback Sneakattack Chain Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full of surprises.

Chapter 10- Flashback Sneakattack ChainReaction

* * *

Morning, which Maka has come to define as "whenever the hell she gets up," is subdued. Maka nurses her second cup of coffee and fries up a couple of eggs for herself and Tsubaki, who has yet to make an appearance. Her brain is once again running full force on the hamster wheel of thought. There is Soul and Black*Star on that wheel, and then she thinks of Tsubaki, and she hates that her brain thinks more like a cop than like a compassionate friend.

When her roommate finally emerges, her mind is made up, and Maka's added fresh toast to the fried eggs for Tsubaki and fixed her a cup of coffee. She looks tired still, but she slips onto her barstool and gives Maka a smile.

"Morning."

"Hey there, sleepyhead." Maka pushes the coffee and the food at her friend. "I can't believe I managed to beat you getting up."

Tsubaki gives a little shrug and inhales her coffee. "Had a little trouble sleeping." She gives Maka a speculative look, dark eyes gleaming, "You have a late night?"

Maka feels her face heat up a little. There's no reason for it to, but there's something about the other woman's tone that makes Maka want to hide. She resists the urge and settles for an exasperated, " _Yes_ , and get your mind out of the gutter."

Tsubaki grins. "What? He's a good looking fellow." Maka rolls her eyes and swallows another bite of egg.

"He's my  _partner_."

"So?"

"So that's a recipe for disaster, and you know it."

"Weren't you just telling me yesterday how being partners means something?"

Maka huffs. "It  _means_  I trust him to watch my back and back me up,  _not_  that I'm going to have sex with him."

"I don't see why the two have to be mutually exclusive," Tsubaki mumbles around her toast. Maka tries not to spit out her coffee.

"Tsubaki!"

"Just saying~" Her roommate finishes up her breakfast and tosses her dishes in the sink. "I'll take care of your stuff too, if you're in a rush," Tsubaki offers as an unspoken peace gesture.

"That would be great if you don't mind. I still gotta shower."

"Go for it."

* * *

Her hair is still a little damp from her shower and she's trying to decide whether to leave it or put it in a ponytail when her phone buzzes on the bathroom countertop. Maka checks it reflexively.

 _Downstairs when you're ready_.

She twists her hair back into a low bun instead and slips the phone into the front pocket of her jeans. Tsubaki gives Maka a look from the sink as she shoves her feet into her boots.

"You heading out?"

"Mm, yeah. Be careful tonight, mk?"

Tsubaki smiles a little. "I will. I'll play it cool, I promise. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." Maka takes in the tenseness in her friend's shoulders and backtracks to give her a quick hug. "If you need anything, you have my number, and you have the Captain's direct line, right?"

"Yeah, I've got it." Maka looks at her roommate carefully, bottom lip sandwiched between her teeth. Tsubaki's eyebrows knit together. "What? Have I got something on my face?"

"Ah, no. I just-" Maka lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She hopes if she can get the words out fast enough, this will go a little better, and she's been thinking about this all day already. "Would you-I mean, if Black*Star comes by while you're at work in the future-would you watch him for us? Keep an eye on him?"

Tsubaki freezes, eyes sharp on Maka's face. "Are-are you seriously asking me what I think you're asking me?"

"No! I mean, nothing that would put you in danger, just if he mentions something or if you can get any information from him safely-"

"Yes you are asking me what I think-didn't you listen to me at all last night?"

"Ah, yes?" Maka is somewhat taken aback by her vehemence.

"Clearly not. Maka, I really like Black*Star. I...I don't want to spy on him."

She didn't hear that right, did she? "What?"

"He's been a real gentleman, and I can't spy on him just because he likes me."

"Can't or  _won't_ ," she says, eyes narrowing.

" _Won't_ ," Tsubaki returns, arms crossing. "That's not fair, Maka. I'll let you know if he says something that I think you guys can use, but I can't, in good conscience, manipulate him just to get you information that you could get from other sources."

"Even if it's information that could break this case?"

"If it's that important, I'd doubt he'd tell me anyway. Don't give me that look, Maka. I can't believe you'd ask me to do this! That's almost as bad as breaking doctor-patient confidentiality."

"No it's not, because he's not your patient."

"No, he's not, but it would be incredibly unethical of me, especially since I still  _want_  to see him!"

Maka can barely remember the last time that she heard Tsubaki yell, but she remembers that she didn't care for it then, and she doesn't care for it now. There is a streak of steel underneath her roommate's normally calm exterior. "You're still going to see him?"

Tsubaki flushes a little. "Maybe. Even if it's not right now, I'd like to not ruin something that could be really great." She's not entirely sure how to handle this, and she's left staring blankly at her roommate. Tsubaki sighs and gives her a gentle nudge. "I can't explain it, ok. I'll do what I can if he gives me anything to go on."

"I-ok. Just. Whatever you  _can_  get is appreciated."

Tsubaki sighs a little. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Now go on before your date starts honking."

Maka's glare is half-hearted but unamused. " _Stop_  that."

"Go on, scoot." The brunette is completely unrepentant, and Maka settles for grumbling slightly as she slips out the door.

There is, she thinks as she exits her apartment, a god, and his particular goal today appears to be throwing her under the bus. She stops dead in front of her building, staring at her partner in shock.

"What is _that_?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, but instead of looking insulted, Soul just looks absurdly pleased.

" _This_  is my baby."

* * *

Soul's so-called "baby" is a pumpkin orange monstrosity of indeterminable origin. He runs a possessive hand over the handlebars and tries not to smirk at Maka's worried expression.

"How did I not know about this?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. You never asked, and I've been hitching rides with Black*Star more often than not and walking home with you the last few days." Maka's brow furrows a little at the mention of Black*Star, but she doesn't say anything. "You can put your bag in one of the saddlebags," he adds.

"Where did you keep it?"

"Wherever I can find the parking for it. You ready?"

"And you're sure it's safe?"

"I've been riding it for the last ten years. Of course it's safe."

"And  _you_  built it?"

"Hey! I resent that implication." Maka raises an eyebrow. " _Yes_ , it's safe. I promise. I even have an extra helmet."

"You'd better. I'd hate to get pulled over by someone I know on that thing."

"Dammit woman, stop insulting my bike and get on."

She carefully stuffs her messenger bag into the left saddlebag and takes the helmet from him, plonking it down on her head. It's a little snug with her bun in the way, but not enough that she wants to take her hair down. She fastens the chinstrap and stares at the bike for a long moment, unsure how to proceed.

"Ever ridden a horse before?" She shakes her head and wonders if he has. "Left foot on the peg, and swing your right leg over. Use my shoulders to brace, and don't worry, I've got us steady." Despite her trepidation, she does as instructed, and finds herself nestled behind Soul, the low thrum of the bike's engine resonating in her bones. Soul glances back at her, lips twisted upwards. "All right. You're gonna wanna hold onto me-shoulders or waist, whichever. When I turn, make sure that you don't counterbalance too much. Keep straight and in line with the bike, and let me worry about the rest of it. Got it?"

"Yeah," she nods, gripping his shoulders. Soul gives her another little grin and pops the clutch.

"Hold on!"

She doesn't squeal, though the sudden motion has her heart jumping into her throat and making a valiant attempt to stay behind on the pavement. Maka tells herself that he's not even going that fast, because really, he's not, but getting that message from her brain to her heart and the pit of her stomach doesn't appear to be happening. Slowly he picks up speed, and Maka can feel the smooth shift of gears through her feet and thighs, and she can feel Soul's low chuckle through his back as she clenches her fists a little tighter into the shoulders of his jacket.

She's glad that she chose to wear jeans and her boots today. The fall air has begun to crisp up slightly, and that, combined with the wind from the bike, makes for a bone-cold ride. She makes it to the first red light before she realizes that she's shivering. Her light hoodie is less suited to the wind than she'd hoped.

"You gonna be ok back there?" Soul asks as they idle.

"Cold," she shivers. His face is amused as he shrugs off her hands and unzips his jacket.

"Here." He offers her his jacket. "Quick now, before the light changes."

"Won't you be cold?" she asks. It's more courtesy than anything else. She's freezing. He shrugs a little.

"I'm not quite as cold-blooded as you are, apparently. I'll be fine. Ready?"

"Hah?" The light's changed, and he shifts again, and Maka has just enough time to finish zipping the jacket and make a panicky grab for Soul. She latches her arms around his waist and presses close, and tells herself that it's because it was the easiest place to grab him and she feels guilty for taking his clothes.

By the time they reach the warehouse park, she finds herself more or less used to the bike. They didn't have much of a chance to go too fast thanks to traffic, and even the windier streets began to feel more exhilarating than terrifying. When he asks her what she thought when they stop again however, she just sniffs and hands him her helmet.

Soul gives her a smirk like he knows she'd enjoyed it anyway and tosses the helmets into his saddlebags. He thinks about asking for his jacket back; he's a little colder than he'd anticipated being, but he figures that he'll warm up once they get moving, and it's kind of worth it to see the worn black leather hang off her frame.

As soon as the rumble of the bike dies, Maka understands Soul's dislike of the place. It  _feels_  dangerous. The large buildings manage to make the lot feel congested and enclosed, despite the fact that there isn't much else around. The location was well-chosen, she has to admit. It's not quite on the outskirts of Death City, but in one of the older commercial districts-just run down enough to be mostly empty, but not enough to have to worry much about squatters and a reputation for high crime.

Which, Maka thinks, is pretty ironic. She makes a note of the area, though there is no visible street address that she can see. If they're really lucky, she can pull the appropriate records and deeds and see if it's possible to tie this place to Medusa or Arachnophobia. She doesn't doubt that it's a track that's already been covered, but when she mentions it to Soul softly, he nods.

"Can't hurt."

Maka kind of hates how much that phrase has become the central theme to their investigation. In the last few days, they've simultaneously jumped forward and crashed to a halt when it comes to leads. It makes her want to tear her hair out. It feels like they're  _so close_  to something busting wide open, but it just keeps slipping out of their grasp. She feels a soft pressure on her wrist and glances at her partner.

"This is where you guys had your fight?" she asks. He nods.

"Yeah."

She stoops down and examines the pavement for a brief moment before digging into her pocket and pulling out a latex glove. Maka snaps it on with practiced efficiency and scrubs her finger through the dirt and gravel of the parking lot. "Can you grab my bag?"

Soul returns a minute later with her satchel and hunkers down next to her. It's not her usual purse, and he figures out why when she asks him to open it up. It's filled to the brim with little boxes and bottles, all very neatly arranged.

"Hm."

Maka gives him a little grin. "Forensics isn't really my area, but I know enough to get by when I need to."

"Did you make this up yourself?" She can hear the admiration in his voice, and she ducks her head a bit.

"I wish. I've got a friend in the precinct, our forensic pathologist. He made me up a...ah, field kit for when I'm out on assignment and I can't really get the normal kind of forensic back up. Can you hand me the bottle with the pink lid and a swab?" He hands the items over, and she squeezes a bit of liquid on the tip of the swab, and runs it along the broken pavement. "Now the spray bottle?" Soul obliges, and she mists the swab and waits. And frowns when nothing happens.

Soul's played this particular game before. He's never been on the forensics area of FBI work, but he's watched them enough to know the drill. "That should be pink," he states.

"Yes. Yes it should." Maka turns sharp green eyes on him. "Are you  _sure_  this is the exact right spot?"

Soul scowls. "Well it might not be the exact coordinates, but this is the spot, and I can assure you, there was plenty of blood." The words come out stiffer than he'd intended, cold and factual. He's not proud of the particular talent he has for violence, useful though it is.

"The phenolphthalein should have picked up any blood traces left," she mumbles, tilting her head to the side slightly. She glares at the swab, as if willing it to turn pink.

It stays frustratingly clear. "Baggie?" Soul hands her one, and she puts the swab in the ziploc and starts the process all over again in a new location a few inches over. Soul can see her getting more and more frustrated, but he keeps his mouth shut and systematically puts up her samples and hands her new supplies. After about ten minutes, Maka finally gives up, rocking back a little. "They must have used some kind of heavy duty cleaning agent. You say there was blood here, but I can't find a single trace-no evidence of anything we can take back and have analyzed or anything. Son of a bitch."

Soul crouches beside her and helps her repack her kit. "When Black*Star and I came by yesterday it was this way. He said that he'd called a cleaner after we left, but by the time he got here, everything was spotless. No bodies, no wounded, no blood, no traces."

Maka makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "Well whoever the hell cleaned it up did a damn good job." She scowls at the pavement. "Assholes." Despite their mutual frustration with the situation, Soul can't help but chuckle a little at his partner. Her lips twist in displeasure, but she accepts the hand he shoves at her as he stands, and let's him pull her to her feet.

"Satisfied?"

"Hardly," she grumbles. "But there's not much that can be done about it. I can maybe get something from the swabs I took, but it's highly unlikely if they're not registering blood at all." As one, they move towards the warehouse. If she didn't know better, she'd say that the whole place was a strong breeze away from falling down around their ears. She takes in the rickety stairs and catwalks, dark despite the few windows near the top of the walls, and the haphazard stacks of crates in twos and threes. "Please tell me that you at least suspected an ambush in a place like this."

He sniffs. "Of course. What kind of guy do you take me for?" Soul pointedly ignores Maka's smirk and raised eyebrow. "I was not, however, expecting the ambush outside. Especially given that we weren't in here very long. The whole operation must have been some kind of setup."

"Probably so. By who, though?"

"Could have been Giriko," he offers, scanning the area where they had made the package exchange. He catches sight of the faint impression of a shoe. "Over here."

"Whatcha got?"

"Shoe print. There's some scuffling in the dust here-"

Maka makes her way over, keeping an eye out on the floor. She digs for a moment, and pulls out her camera, snapping a few shots. "Whose do you think it is?"

Soul reorients himself a little. "That should belong to our contact. I didn't see the entirety of the transaction, but Black*Star was standing there-" he points, and Maka notes more of the dust scuffs. "And the parcel was there." The dust is clearly disturbed, and Maka crouches again. Whatever was in the box was heavy, and it wasn't a small package, either.

"Nothing," she determines with a sigh. "What about these crates?"

"We didn't get a chance to examine them when we were here. Black*Star didn't seem interested, and I didn't want to damage potential evidence with him around." He looks at the pile closest to him. "There sure are a lot of these, though. You got a spare pair of those gloves?" There is a latex  _slap_  as Maka tosses her spare pair at his face. He glares half-heartedly at her as he tries to tug them over his larger hands. "Unnecessary."

"Totally necessary," she retorts, and moves to a different stack. She pulls a small flashlight out of her purse and shines it through the rickety slats of the crates. Nothing. With a slight frown, she moves onto the next stack and the next. Nothing. The crates look as though they've been in the warehouse for years, but she doesn't notice any sort of decaying cargo, no remnants or traces of goods.

Another stack, and her light merrily bounces through the cracks between the wood. She scowls a little and goes to move onto the next stack. Her light bounces, reflects, and she stops.  _The hell_.

"Maka, are you finding anything? Cause I'm not and it's really strange."

She peers more intently at one of the boxes. "I don't know," she finally replies. "Maybe, though probably not what you're expecting." She can hear his boots clearly along the warehouse floor, but her gaze is still fixed on the box.

"Did you find something we can use? Cause that's all I care about right now."

"I'm not sure yet. What does this look like to you?" She straightened and ran her flashlight along the top of the crate, then along the joints.

"Those look like brand new nails."

"Ok, glad that isn't just me seeing that."

"Why are there new nails in ancient crates in an abandoned warehouse?" He looks over at Maka and she twists her lips.

"That is the million dollar question, isn't it?"

They spend another half an hour doing a cursory check of the crates, and all they end up having to show for it are a few loose fibers that Maka manages to spot. She collects and tags them, carefully repackaging them in her kit. "I think that's gonna be it for this place," she says when she's done.

"There are a few more warehouses that Black*Star overlooked. I didn't think that it was, aaah, prudent to push the issue with him."

"You think that we should check them out?" she asks, stepping back into the run down parking lot. It's only late afternoon, but the sunlight is beginning to wane, and Maka shivers lightly at the lengthening shadows. The surrounding buildings aren't tall, but they're solid still, heavy and imposing in a way that's hard for Maka to quantify.

"Seems like a plan."

As one they move to the next building-quickly and cautiously. Maka continues to keep an eye out for anything that might be evidence, and doesn't have to wonder if Soul's doing the same. The door is locked, and looks as though it hasn't been opened since the place shut down. Soul presses against it, but it doesn't budge. "Dammit," he mutters.

"Can you pick it?"

Honestly, he's not entirely sure, but he likes that that's her first question. "Probably, but they're going to know that someone's been in the stuff if I do." He watches her face carefully, can see the way she mulls the idea over in her brain before she nods.

"Do it. They're not gonna know who did it, just that someone busted into their warehouse." She gives him a cheeky smile. "For all they know, maybe it was the gang that interrupted your transaction."

"As you wish." His voice is mild-too mild for the fact that he's suddenly in her space. "I need in my jacket," he says. Maka blinks and nods, but before she can remove it, his hands are there, slipping carefully into the inside pocket. She freezes as his fingers deftly retrieve a small slim case that she hadn't even felt before. Before she can blink, he pulls the case out and gives it a cocky spin, and Maka ignores the noseful of Soul's soap smell she inhales. Taking a half-step back she raises an eyebrow and exhales slowly.

"You keep lockpicks in your jacket?"

He crouches in front of the door and grins back at her, a quick twist of the lips before turning his concentration on the lock. "What, you don't?"

She can't help the snort that escapes.

It takes him longer than it should have for this particular type of lock, and he nearly breaks some of his picks in the process, but eventually he hears the satisfying click of tumblers rolling into place. With a small groan, Soul stands and pushes the door open, gesturing for her to go ahead.

"Such a gentlemen," she says, rolling her eyes faintly. She gets a faceful of cobwebs not three steps into the building and she barely manages to stifle her startled yelp, hands flapping wildly as she tries to clear away the clingy, dusty strands. Behind her, Soul chokes back a laugh, and she shoots him a withering glare over her shoulder. He lets the door close behind them.

"Thanks for clearing the way," he grins. It's difficult enough resisting the urge to wipe her hands on her jeans, much less the urge to wipe the smile off his face.

"Jackass," she mutters. Soul's smile doesn't diminish, but he does lengthen his stride to catch up with her.

His grin morphs into a smirk. "What can I say, I know how to show a lady a good time." She considers this too silly for words, so she just huffs, and doesn't acknowledge the way he keeps slightly ahead of her as they begin their exploration.

It's darker than the last building, and Soul doesn't know if that's a function more of the lateness of the day or because the windows that line the top of the walls are so dusty and grimy that the daylight didn't have much of a chance in the first place. It makes him antsy-even moreso that the first warehouse, or the oddly scoured parking lot. Maka pulls out her flashlight and stops dead in her tracks.

"The hell?" The beam scans across the floor, highlighting air thick with grit and dust motes, and what she can identify as a few more of the same crates they'd seen in the first building. Despite the apparent disuse of the building, the floor is surprisingly clean. There's only a thin layer of accumulated dust on the concrete floor. "Do those look like-tire treads to you?"

He stoops for a closer look, and she shines her flashlight. Soul feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Small, but yeah. Larger than a bicycle, smaller than a motorcycle-"

"Maybe something like you'd find on a dolly or a handtruck?"

"You think they were storing something in here," he states, glancing her way.

Maka looks a little thoughtful and a lot cautious. "Whatever was here must have been removed pretty recently. There's not much of a dust build up at all."

"And you think the treads are from whatever moved the cargo?"

Maka shrugs one shoulder. "I think it's pretty likely." Her flashlight sketches a fairly clear path along the faint tracks. They're broken periodically by scuffs that she identifies as likely the result of whoever was pulling the wheeled mystery cart, but overall she feels comfortable with the idea that someone had removed something from the warehouse not that long ago.

"Well they didn't take everything," he says with a nod at the other stacks. "I wonder if these are as empty as the last ones." Maka's flashlight still panning across the warehouse floor. The light bounces across something that doesn't quite fit with the monotonous grey of the concrete and the faded wood of the crates. "Wait," he reaches out and touches her wrist lightly. "Did you see that?"

Maka nods, already treading lightly across the floor to the stack of crates. Her heart speeds up as she approaches, eyes taking in decayed wood . "Soul! Look at this!"

This is it, she's certain. The little vial glints, partially hidden under a mostly broken crate. Had her flashlight not hit it at just the right angle, Maka doubts that they'd have caught it at all. Careful of the splinters, she picks up the small glass vial; it's filled with something that looks mostly liquid, if thick and viscous, and nearly black.

"What do you think it is?" he asks, taking it from her gently. He runs a careful eye over it, but nothing about it is striking any chords. Soul thinks that he might be able to identify it a little better via smell, but that can wait until they're not in the middle of investigating a rundown warehouse.

"I've never seen anything quite like it," she admits. "But I bet it's just what we need."

"What makes you say that?"

She gives him a little smile. "Call it a hunch." He grins back.

"A hunch, huh? You always struck me as more of the hard evidence sort of girl."

"A little vial of black stuff in what's supposed to be an empty warehouse? Seems like hard evidence of  _something_ ," she retorts, digging for an evidence bag. The look on her face is teasing, however, "Besides, there's nothing wrong with a good old fashioned hunch to get you moving in the right direction. It's a time honored police tradition."

"Mm, and  _that's_  why I went into the FBI," he smirks.

Maka scoffs and tucks the little vial away. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the higher pay grade and the fancy badge."

"The suit's good for picking up the ladies, too," he adds, teeth flashing merrily.

With the discovery of the vial, Maka feels as though a weight has been lifted from them. Here at last is  _something_  concrete, something tangible and testable, and something that at least has a chance at forging the tenuous connection that they need to strengthen their case against Medusa and Arachnophobia. Soul's little smile is infectious, and she finds herself grinning back at him, wondering if he can feel the change in the air as well.

"Shall we keep exploring?" she asks.

"See if our luck holds out?" Soul sketches out a theatric half-bow. "After you."

She nudges his shoulder. "Oh no, I think I've learned my lesson. No more cobwebs in my hair. After you, I insist."

Soul chuckles. "Clever girl."

And that's when all hell breaks loose as the back door explodes inward with a wailing screech and a white hot light that has them both shielding their eyes.

Her eyes sting from the sudden brightness and she reaches instinctively for a gun that she's not carrying. She can hear the warehouse door crash to the ground, and the soft slide of metal and leather that tells her Soul is at least is armed. She makes out an erratic set of footsteps before her heart stops in her throat.

"I see you." The voice is rough, but on the high side of baritone and tickles something in the back of her brain. It pauses, light almost directly in Maka's eyes. "I don't know how to deal with intruders; what do  _you_  think we should do?" Another pause and a light chuckle that makes Maka choke, her eyes wide even against the brightness. "I  _like_  that idea."

The light flashes, and if she doesn't have her own gun, at least she's not helpless. She retaliates with her own flashlight, hand reaching into her back pocket, heart slamming in her chest as her light skips over a slim, short figure in black. She only has it for a moment before it's gone, weaving and dodging almost drunkenly. Her vision is spotted, and she can't imagine that Soul is doing much better, but he manages to squeeze off a shot as Maka highlights their assailants.

Soul can see the slight stutter as his bullet impacts, but it doesn't slow the figure rushing them down. "Shit!" He risks a glance at his partner, but all he can catch is the impression of wide eyes and blanched skin and shaking shoulders. "Snap out of it!" She blinks and inhales sharply, dodging a wild slash. He realizes belatedly as she stumbles back, that she's mumbling under her breath.

He can't focus on her anymore though because the figure is practically on top of him now, and it's all he can do to avoid the flash of a wickedly sharp knife. "You shouldn't  _be_  here," it singsongs, and for all of the staggering movements, the hand holding the blade is surprisingly skilled, pushing Soul back towards one of the piles of broken crates. He hears a rasping hiss, and Maka's voice ringing out,

"CHRONA!"


	11. Electrified and Cherry Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a jump to the left...

Chapter 11- Electrified and Cherry Red

* * *

Soul catches sight of lank pinkish hair and then his assailant is turning to Maka, movements a little slower, more hesitant. He can see her widen her stance a little, collapsible asp in her right hand.

"How do you know my name? No one's supposed to know my name." The achingly familiar figure staggers towards her, and it's all Maka can do keep breathing. "That's my  _name_  and you can't have it and I WANT IT BACK!" Chrona's voice breaks in a fevered pitch, and staggering melds into a sprint.

"Chrona please,  _please_  stop! It's me, it's Maka you've got to-" she's cut off by the whistle of Chrona's knife perilously close to her face. Soul tenses. She doesn't even try to defend herself.

"Maka, makamaka nope no one here with that name, just you and me and him and  _him_  and  _you're_  not supposed to be here at all."

She backs away from another deadly flash and stumbles slightly as her back hits a stack of rickety crates. Maka could kick herself for not being more aware of her surroundings, but she's too focused on her very alive friend.

"You have to stop, Chrona we can help you, please-" She watches the gaunt face twist, dry, cracked lips curling into a sneer, and she's got nowhere to go.

"There's no help here got all the help in the world." The words trip over each other like a prayer.

Maka stares at the wickedly sharp blade as it scythes downward, asp forgotten in her hand, her stare fixated on the end of her life, the culmination of her failure as a teacher, a cop, a friend-

She hears the wet noise of flesh and cotton being bisected, is mildly surprised at the lack of pain and the smell of Soul's soap in her nose, and then reality snaps back into focus as her partner slumps down in front of her, his pained gasp cutting through the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

Even in the dim of the warehouse, she can see there's much too much blood- "Soul!" She can make out Chrona's deranged chuckle, the faint rise and fall of her partner's breathing, the  _drip drip_  of the knife, loosely held as Chrona surveys the damage. It has to be now.

Maka tightens her grip and lunges over her partner. Shoulder back, follow through with the motion, snap forward. The baton, 16 inches of steel, cracks into Chrona's wrist, and the knife falls, bouncing on the concrete. Chrona stares, head cocked slightly, at the cracked protruding bone.

"What was that for?"

Maka lunges forward again and tries to shut her brain down. She can't think about the kids that she started training, about Chrona's hesitant questions, Ragnarock's bravado. There is only an opponent and a situation that must be controlled. She tells herself that there is nothing here of the rookie she once knew. Mostly, she believes it.

Lightning quick, she snaps the asp out and feels the shattering of a kneecap. Chrona doesn't register any pain, but stumbles regardless. There is a grim sort of satisfaction in her own efficiency as Chrona hits the floor.

Chrona writhes on the dusty concrete, eyes wide and rolling, and Maka takes a moment to make sure the knife is out of reach. Improbably, Soul is still conscious, and he gives her a wordless, desperate look, one hand clenched on the hilt of the knife he'd tried to hide away.

"Oh  _god_ , hang on, Soul." His eyes flutter shut and her heart stops for a moment until she can see the faint rise of his chest again. Chrona giggles, still twitching, noise scraping across her eardrums, and Maka turns her attention back.

"I thought you were dead," she whispers, and puzzled grey eyes, pupils dilated to an abnormal size, roll to look at her-at once familiar and completely foreign.

"I'm not?"

Maka feels her chest split in two, but brings her asp down in a sharp, controlled motion that knocks her former trainee unconscious.

* * *

Her first instinct is to call 911 and get an ambulance there as fast as possible. Instead, she slips out of Soul's jacket and tries to wriggle out of her hoodie at a speed approaching light. There's still so much blood, and she's not sure how deep the cut is. She takes the fact that Soul's still conscious as a good sign though, and she rolls him onto his back as gently as she can so she can press her hoodie against the gash. Anything to stop the blood, she thinks.

"Soul?" He groans slightly, and her heart pounds. "Soul, can you hear me?"

" _Fuck_."

She tamps down on her urge to smile at his roughshod voice. "Just hold on, ok? I'm gonna try to stop the bleeding and call 911."

Soul latches onto her wrist, wincing. "No, you can't."

"Are you  _insane_? Of course I can-you're hurt."

"Our cover," he rasps.

" _Fuck_  our cover; you're bleeding out, jackass."

"It's not that bad. We can get to a doctor-"

"One who can take care of your  _bisected torso_? I don't think so, Soul." It takes every ounce of willpower she has to not scream at him and dial 911 anyway.

" _Please_ , Maka. We still might be able to crack this still. I...I know somewhere we can go if you can just get me there. The minute an ambulance comes screaming down here, we've lost it all." She hates the look in his eyes because it's pleading and just as stubborn as any look she's given him, and she knows how this ends.

"Ok." Soul gives her a little grin, but can't quite hide his grimace. She manages not to drop her cellphone digging it out of her front pocket, but only barely, and she's punching Tsubaki's speed dial before she can talk some sense into herself.

"Can you get up?" she asks, phone braced between her ear and shoulder as she tries to wriggle back into his jacket. He groans, but shifts slightly, and she's there, legs bracing, helping him to his feet as gently as possible, trying not to jostle his makeshift tourniquet.

In her ear, Tsubaki's phone rings mechanically. "Ugh. Pickuppickup _pick. Up_."

"Maka? I was just about to go in to work-"

" _Tsubaki_! Please, I need you to get the car and come and get me and Soul. Please. Now."

"What? What happened? Where are you?"

"I can't-just. We're over by the warehouses...I don't have an address." She could kick herself for not paying more attention to the streets earlier.

"But-"

"We'll be waiting by Soul's bike. It's bright orange, you can't miss it. We're somewhere off of...Hawthorne? I think it's Hawthorne. You know where those warehouses are, right?"

" _Hawthorne_? What the fuck, Maka? Are you ok?"

Maka breathes. In. Out. Slowly, calmly. "I'm fine, Tsubaki. But Soul isn't and I need you down here 5 minutes ago. Do you know the place I'm talking about?" She doesn't think that she yells, but Tsubaki is quiet on the other end of the line, as if she's been screaming.

"Y-yeah, I do. Ok. Ok, I'll be there as fast as I can." The line cuts out, and Maka tamps down on her increasing panic. The blood has slowed a little bit, but there is still too much of it, and she doesn't know how she's going to get Soul to the bike without hurting him further. He's mobile, but only by the most generous definition of the word.

"Try and keep some pressure on your wound, ok?"

Soul grunts, but presses a shaky hand against the hoodie. Maka doesn't like the way that she can see the blood beginning to seep through the cotton. They stumble out of the warehouse with only minimal frustration, and Maka, paranoid, takes them through the first warehouse again rather than skirt the edge of the building in the open. Soul doesn't think that it matters, but he appreciates her concern. Plus, the route is marginally shorter, which he finds himself a fan of.

His bike is a sight for sore eyes, and Maka props him up against it as she tries not to look like she's one loud noise away from a complete breakdown. He keeps a careful eye on the crown of her head as she fusses over the hoodie-turned-bandage. There are wisps of dishwater blond hair escaping from her bun, and they keep catching the last visible rays of light. He wants to tell her that he thinks she's cute, that he really likes the way she's kind of panicky, but what comes out when he opens his mouth is,

"Did I bleed on my jacket?" He wonders if it's the bloodloss. Maka's head rockets up and she stares at him incredulously.

"Are you  _serious_?"

 _No_. "Yes. I really like that jacket." His voice is almost conversational as he slumps against his bike and wonders how they're going to get it back to his apartment. He's 99% sure that Maka can't drive it, or if she even knows how to drive a standard in the first place.  _He's_  sure as hell not driving anything anytime soon. The sky already looks like it's spinning.

"-oul?  _Soul_!"

Maka's looking at him, and that panic is just a little closer to the surface. He blinks once, head tilting slightly. "Your eyes are really,  _really_ green. Can you handle a stick?"

"I- _what_?"

" _Stick_ , Albarn," he enunciates, as though that's going clear things up. "Have you got any experience with driving stick?"

Her mouth gapes a little, then pulls into a thin, twisted line. Soul can't look away from it. "I think that you need to not talk anymore," she finally mutters, face flushed in the dying light. That urge is back again, he thinks, but then he's not entirely sure that it ever left. She twists her head, looking back towards the street, but doesn't take her hand from his shoulder. "God _dammit_  Tsubaki drive faster," she hisses.

"She's coming," Soul assures her. He can hear the faint sound of engine noise heading closer, and he thinks the odds that it will be anyone else are pretty slim. Soul can't help but be impressed with Tsubaki's speed-he was banking on her taking at least another ten minutes.

"You're hallucinating; I don't hear  _anything_."

"I have  _very_  good ears," he insists, and she gives him that  _look_  again.

"I think you've lost too much blood-" she starts, then stops, jaw clicking shut. "Son of -a-"

The sound of a car is much more clear now, and Soul has enough energy to shoot her a smug look before Tsubaki's ancient Honda comes sliding into the parking lot. Tsubaki throws the car into park and is out of the driver's side in record time. Her eyes are huge and panicky and apologetic, and Soul wonders why for a split second before Black*Star is climbing out of the car, too.

"Tsubaki!" Maka's voice is somewhere between horrified and full blown panic. Soul can feel his heart simultaneously drop into his shoes and leap into his throat, with a pit stop at trying to burst out of the giant laceration on his chest. Her roommate is wide-eyed, and they're in the midst of having some kind of conversation based solely on frantic hand gestures and hissed monosyllables when Black*Star reaches them.

"Oh man, Soul, what the fuck, man?"

Soul blinks at his friend who is  _definitely_ not supposed to be here and starts to open his mouth when Maka interjects. "We've got to get him to a doctor, Black*Star. Soul said he knew someone?"

"No fucking joke. Shit, ok." The mobster takes a deep breath, and she's surprised to see that it's a little shaky. "Ok, yeah. I know the doc he's talking about. Can you walk, dude?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" Soul mumbles. He starts to stand, but wavers a bit, and Black*Star's under one arm as Maka steadies the other.

"Oh,  _gosh_ , Soul,  _I don't know_ , maybe it's because you've got this  _gaping chest wound_ ," she bites out, the sarcasm in her tone barely disguising the worry.

"It's not  _that_  bad," he argues weakly, and Maka looks like she might be about to scream. Soul thinks he can actually hear her teeth grinding together. They get him to the car without too much trouble, though she can't help but notice that Soul's not really managing to pick up his feet anymore.

"Can we even get him in the back?" Black*Star looks skeptical.

"I think we have to," Tsubaki murmurs.

"Right. Kitten, go ahead and get in the back, and I'm going to hand him in to you, ok?"

Maka resists the urge to glare and argue with him, if barely. She clambers into the back of the Honda as quickly as she can, and together she and Black*Star ignore Soul's weakening protestations that he can "get in the goddamned car on his own, thank you very much."

"Clearly you can't," Maka retorts as he grunts and crumples in pain. "Just-shut  _up_ , and let Black*Star help you, you  _ass_." She doesn't even try to hide the panic in her voice this time, and Soul allows himself to be manhandled into the back of the car. Maka's hands are firm under his shoulders as she maneuvers him into the backseat. Black*Star manages to refrain from knocking his legs against the door frame too much, and before he knows it, Soul's crammed into the backseat of Tsubaki's miniscule Honda hatchback, his head and shoulders resting on Maka's lap, his legs curled uncomfortably. Black*Star slides into the passenger's seat and slams the door. Soul cranes his head a little, and just catches a glimpse of his ride.

"My bike-!" he tries to protest; the thought of leaving it here, of all places, sits poorly with him.

Unconcerned, Black*Star shrugs. "It'll be fine, dude. You know I can't drive one of those things." He smirks, "Besides, someone's gotta give the driver directions, and I bet your happy ass is about to pass out."

"Am not," he mutters, but it sounds faint and petulant even to his ears. Maka lets out a soft _wuff_  of laughter underneath him, and he can feel the heat of her hand threading into his hair; the other rests gingerly across the front of his shoulders. She very carefully does  _not_  smooth out the lines his mouth is twisted into; Maka's not even sure he realizes that he's grimacing.

"We'll come back for it," she says. "Now s _hut_   _up_  and hold still. You're heavy,  _Agent Tubs_ ," she whispers this in his ear so softly that he isn't even positive she said it at first. But he hazards a glance up, and she gives him a familiar smirk. He tries not to focus on her overly expressive eyes. His chest really hurts, and his nose is full of the smell of his leather jacket and something that's purely  _Maka_.

"Where do I go?" Tsubaki asks from the driver's seat. Her voice is only a little shaky, but her shoulders are tense and her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. She resists the urge to constantly check her rearview mirror.

"Make a left when you pull out of here and head towards Samhain Ave." She nods and hits the gas, turning all of her energy towards simultaneously breaking the speed limit and driving like a grandma so as to not jostle Soul and his wound.

The drive is tense. Soul finally passes out-at least, she  _thinks_  that he passed out, but he might just be sleeping. Maka's torn between constantly checking to make sure that Soul's still actually breathing and trying to figure out via landmarks just where, exactly, they're going.

"Hey," Black*Star's voice is quieter than Maka had thought him capable of. Tsubaki gives him a quick sideways glance, and he slips his hand over her knee. "You're ok, yeah?"

Maka looks away and focuses on their surroundings.

"Yeah, I think so," she hears Tsubaki reply. Black*Star tugs on a lock of her hair gently, and gives her a wide, if somewhat forced, grin.

"Hey now, aren't you glad I came with you? You and scrawny back there never would have gotten Soul in here on your own."

The corners of her mouth quirk up a little, and her death grip on the steering wheel relaxes. "Thank you for putting those big strong muscles to use," she says. From her place in the backseat, Maka definitely is not paying any attention to what is totally  _not_  in any way, shape, or form  _flirting_  between her roommate and one of the mobsters she's working to put out of business. Nope. Not happening.

In her lap, Soul groans and shifts, his shoulder digging painfully into the bone of her hip.  _Figures_ , she thinks. Even passed out, he still gives her grief. She's kind of starting to get used to it. Her hand runs through his hair absently, and she watches as some of the tension eases from his face. Outside, the buildings flash by as Tsubaki makes use of a lead foot that Maka didn't know she had. Black*Star continues to give her directions. The surreality of this entire situation dances through her brain-Black*Star's voice calming and soothing her poor roommate, her partner slowly bleeding out in the back of a 1982 Honda Civic, their cover probably blown to bits. Maka shuts down any train of thought that begins or ends with pink hair. If she thinks about _that_ , she'll lose it.

She can hold it together for a little while longer, she's pretty sure.

Black*Star pulls out his cell while they're stopped at a red light and hits what looks like a speed dial button. He holds the phone away from his ear, and waits.

" _WHAT DID YOU DO_?" Maka can hear the woman's voice crystal clear from her spot in the backseat. Black*Star doesn't even wince at the woman's volume.

"Hey Mira."

" _DON'T YOU 'HEY MIRA,' ME!_ "

Black*Star rolls his eyes and shoots Maka a smirk. "Yeah, I'm good, thanks for asking. Also, I'm gonna be at the clinic in like-" The light turns green, and Tsubaki floors it. Black*Star's free hand clutches the dash. "-uh. Soon. Thanks see you there ok  _bye_!" It's not a request, and Maka can hear upset squawking from the phone before he hangs up. "You're gonna wanna make a left up here, and then a right on Ghengis." Tsubaki's jaw clenches, but she nods.

Black*Star's estimate of "soon" was pretty accurate. Another few minutes, and Tsubaki practically drifted the Honda into a parking space next to an animal clinic that Maka wasn't familiar with. The whole drive hadn't taken them much more than fifteen minutes, despite her brain's insistence that this was, in fact, the longest car ride she'd ever taken. Black*Star was out almost before Tsubaki managed to put the e-brake on, and had adjusted his seat so they could try and maneuver Soul back out of the hatchback before she could even ask.

She doesn't like Soul's unresponsiveness as they jostle him out of the car. It's rougher than she wants it to be, but there's no help for it, and Maka grits her teeth and tries to keep his shoulders and head steady. It's harder while he's dead weight, but she can't rouse him, and she feels the familiar flicker of panic when he doesn't so much as twitch.

"Can you get him?"

She flashes a quick glare at Black*Star. He's her  _partner_ , of course she can get him, she wants to snap, but she just nods instead. She knows he only sees the girl he knows is a waitress at a strip club when he looks at her. And then Tsubaki is next to her, helping support Soul's back, and the side door of the little clinic is opening. The tightness in her chest refuses to ease.

* * *

Mira Nygus, Maka learns quickly, is brusque and professional despite the fact that she's apparently running an under the table medical operation for the mob. Together, they get Soul inside and laid out on a table. Maka wonders about the cleanliness of the place for a moment, but the stainless steel table seems as clean as anything she'd find in Stein's morgue-and that had been the only other option she'd been able to think of.

"I  _will_  be expecting an explanation, Star," Nygus says, giving the mobster a quick glare as she snaps on her gloves. He gives her a small grin, but his eyes are focused on Soul.

"If I told you it wasn't my fault this time, would you believe me?"

Nygus wastes no time cutting through the remains of Maka's hoodie and Soul's shirt. "Hmph. We'll see later. Don't think you're going to squirm out of it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, and it's the most solemn thing she's heard out of Black*Star to date. Maka doesn't dwell on his tone, however. Her attention is riveted on Soul. It's the first time she's gotten a clear look at the damage to her partner's chest, and her heart leaps into her throat. Tan skin has gone worryingly grey, and the cut is deeper than she had originally thought. It stretches from his collarbone to the top of his hip, and she can't look away as Mira begins to clean the wound.

"Is there a reason you all are still in here," she snaps, eyes intent on her patient as she removes stray fibers from the gash. Black*Star shuffles a little and tugs on Tsubaki's arm.

"C'mon," he murmurs. "I know where she keeps the hot cocoa. You  _do_  like hot cocoa, right? Cause if you don't, now's the time to tell me." Maka can hear Tsubaki's low response, her eyes focused on the watered down red of Soul's blood.

"Maka?"

"I'm not leaving," she replies, and Tsubaki hesitates in the doorway. "I'm fine, but I'm not leaving." The smile Maka gives her roommate is strained at best. Tsubaki doesn't buy it, but the exchange is enough to make Nygus look up from her patient. She gives Maka a very blatant once over, from her dishevelled hair to the bloodstains on her hands and clothes. She lingers for a moment on Maka's face, and Maka stares back, jaw set. She isn't sure what, precisely, the woman sees in her face, but Nygus merely nods after a moment.

"You can stay. Sink's over there if you want to wash up. That isn't a suggestion, actually. Scrub down-I'll need your help with some things here in a minute."

Maka nods and moves to the sink mechanically. She lathers and begins to scrub, the movement familiar and soothing. Her eyes wander to a poster of an overly fluffy kitten and its musculature. And vascular system.  _A vet._ She exhales shakily. They're in a vet's office, she reminds herself. Mira Nygus is a veterinarian. Maka's not sure if that makes her feel better or worse. She towels off and puts on a pair of gloves.

"How bad is it?" she asks, turning back to the table. Nygus finishes cleaning the gash and gestures with her head.

"Could be worse," she says. "Could be a lot better, though. Can you fix up a needle for me, please?" Maka stares at the table for a moment. "Big curvy needle, thread it up. And I'll need those things that look like pliers, if you would." She blinks, still staring at the implements, and suddenly the world comes rushing back.

She knows what these things are-she had watched her mom practice suturing before she could even walk. Maka takes a deep breath and sets up the needle without further instruction, fingers trembling but still sure in their movements. She can do this. Focus. It's not all that different from gauze and bandaids and Soul with a split lip that hasn't fully healed yet.

Breathe. Her hands steady as she passes over the needle.

"What else?"

* * *

When he wakes up, it's to the low murmur of voices, fluorescent lights, and traumatizing pictures of heartworms. His feet are hanging off the edge of a metal table, his chest hurts, and he's  _cold_. He grunts a little as he tries to sit up and suddenly she's there, green eyes focused on him, hands reaching out to steady him as he moves.

"How're you feeling?" Maka asks, voice carefully blank.

"Like I got hit in the chest with a fucking  _truck_."

She smiles slightly. "I suppose that's not far from the truth. What's the last thing you remember?" He closes his eyes and recalls thin fingers in his hair and blood.

"The backseat of Tsubaki's car," he grumbles, "and my leg cramping up. Why couldn't you have put me up front?"

"What, and trust you to give directions?" Black*Star interjects. Soul catches the small flash of annoyance that crosses Maka's face. "I wouldn't trust you with directions when you  _aren't_  bleeding out."

"There is nothing wrong with the way I give directions. It's not my fault you can't tell left from right."

"Now, now, boys. Since Soul's awake, maybe you two want to tell me what brings you here this fine evening?"

Soul gives the woman a little smile and gestures to his wrapped chest. "I should think that would be obvious. You know there's no one we trust more with delicate matters of the flesh." He tries for flippant, but he can't remember the last time he was in this much pain.

Nygus crosses her arms, and raises an eyebrow. "Flattery isn't going to get you shit, Soul Eater." She turns to Black*Star. "I think I've been abundantly patient, all things considered. You know how I feel about these little late night visits.  _What_.  _Happened_."

Black*Star gives her a little shrug, and shoots Soul a look he can't quite decipher. "You know, Mira, that's a really good question. One I'd love to know the answer to. Soul?" Maka shifts a little closer to Soul. They hadn't discussed this—never thought that their trip to the warehouse would be anything more than a quick in and out and done type of deal. Maka puts her hand on the steel table, and he can feel the warmth of it next to his thigh. It's nothing more than a small shift to place his hand over hers. Black*Star doesn't miss the movement.

"There was an…unexpected fight," he says. "I got ambushed, and I wasn't fast enough."

"No fucking joke. Who was it?" Black*Star asks.

Soul glances at Maka. Her face is pinched and pale and she clenches her hand underneath his. He shrugs. "I've never seen 'em before. Pink hair. Crazy skinny.  _Crazy_. Just came after us with a knife almost as long as my forearm. Barely got away with just this scratch."

" _Scratch_?" Nygus scoffs. Next to her, Black*Star frowns, but doesn't show any signs of recognition at Soul's description.

"It could have been worse. The kid was faster than anyone I've seen before, and single-minded."

"Where'd he go? How'd you get away?"

Soul smirks a little. "Kitten knows kung-fu."

She startles. "Soul! I do  _not_."

"Well, whatever you wanna call it, you kicked some serious ass." He runs his thumb across the side of hers, and she gives Soul a half-hearted glare. Black*Star glances between them and Maka shrugs, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

"A girl's gotta know how to protect herself."

"Hm. And you just what-left him there?"

"What else were we supposed to do? Soul was bleeding out," she snaps at the mobster. "I called Tsubaki cause she has a car and we needed to get him to a doctor, fast." Tsubaki shifts uncomfortably and looks anywhere but at Maka.

"As much as I hate to see you under these circumstances, better me than nothing," Nygus sighs, and Soul gives the vet a faint grin.

"Does that mean that I can go home now, doc?"

Nygus sighs and gives him a once over. "Against my better judgment, yes. But  _only_  because I know it'll be pointless to try and keep you here."

"You're damn right it would." Soul gingerly edges off the steel table and doesn't even pretend he isn't grateful for Maka's steadying hand. His entire torso feels like it's on fire. "What do I owe you," he asks.

"Hm. $22.50 for those scrubs we had to stick you in. Stitching and antibiotics are gonna cost you." She smiles at Soul's pained look. "We can settle the rest of it at the end of the month, though."

Soul hisses in pain as he goes for his wallet, and Maka finds herself on the end of a stare that is part pleading and part pure, unadulterated mischief. "Can you help me out, Kitten?"

With a look that promises retribution, Maka slips deft fingers into his back pocket, pulls out a worn leather monstrosity, and hands Nygus $30. "Don't worry about change," she says with a small smile.

Nygus returns it. "You're too kind." She walks them to the clinic's door. "Keep those stitches covered and make sure that they don't get wet for at least a full 24 hours. Watch out for redness or pus, and  _don't_   _scratch them_. They should dissolve in a week or two." She frowns a little, hesitating. "I know I can't keep you here, but seriously-you need bedrest for a while.  _Not_  that I think you'll listen. I don't want you tearing those stitches before they set. The wound is already worse off thanks to all that moving around earlier. You're going to want some good pain meds, too. Unfortunately, I don't have anything on hand that you can take."

"Ah-you don't have to worry about that, Dr. Nygus. I have a-resource. It should be fine," Maka insists. Soul raises an eyebrow, which she just returns with an implied,  _later_.

"Good. Let me know if it falls through. If you give me a day or two, I should be able to come up with something. And call me if anything starts looking odd."

Soul grins and gives her a little half-wave. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks, Mira."

The vet huffs a little, but gives him a fond look. "I won't say it's my pleasure. I don't want to see you in here again, Soul Eater. And  _you_ ," she says, turning to Black*Star. "It wouldn't kill you to call your dad every once in while."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Whatever. I'll give the geezer a call when I remember. Later, Mira." He slings an arm around Tsubaki, and they make their way out to the car.

* * *

They drop Soul off first, and Maka squeezes out of the backseat to make sure he gets inside. He slips an arm over her shoulder, and she wraps hers around his waist. Soul likes to pretend that it's for the benefit of Black*Star, but he knows he wouldn't have made it up the stairs without Maka's support.

"I wanna make sure that Tsubaki gets home ok-in light of...events," she starts. He fumbles around in his pockets for a moment for his keys.

"You think Black*Star's going to cause trouble?" He stops groping at his pockets and instead reaches for his jacket, still draped over her smaller frame. She squeaks a little, startled. Soul fishes into the right pocket and triumphantly. He jingles the keys at her irritated look.

"I don't know, and that worries me," she says, after a moment, face red. Soul unlocks his door without too much trouble, still grinning, and turns to look at her. His eyes are darker in the hallway's light, or maybe it's the pain beginning to kick in in force. He wavers a little in the doorway, and Maka makes up her mind. "Give me your key," she demands. "I'm coming back as soon as I make sure Tsubaki's settled."

"Don't you have to go into work?"

"After this? Are you crazy? I already called Blair and told her I wasn't going to make it."

"What'd you tell her?"

She can't help the little smirk she give him. "Food poisoning."

"Really."

"It worked, didn't it?"

He huffs a little bit. "Seems like this would be the perfect time to go in. See if anyone is talking about the attack-"

Maka stops him. "What? Are you serious? First off, you got sliced up by someone I thought was  _dead_. I'm not leaving you alone tonight. Second, if I go in there and anyone's talking about you getting attacked, they're probably going to know I was there, and then they're going to clam right the hell up."

He meets her unflinching stare, and she watches his shoulders slump. "I guess you got a point."

"Of course I do." Eyebrow raised, she holds out her hand. "Key, please."

Soul grins slowly. "You just want to take advantage of me, don't you? Admit it."

She rolls her eyes. "If I wanted to take advantage of  _you_ ," she retorts, "I would have done it when you were drunk the other night. I certainly wouldn't do it when you're incapacitated. Takes all the fun out." She wiggles her fingers.

"Those were different circumstances-"

"And so are these." Maka gives him a small smile. She'll never admit that she's enjoying their banter, that she feels some kind of spastic fluttering in her chest possibly related to the fact he's feeling up to teasing her at all. "Mostly," she adds, "I just don't trust you to take your antibiotics."

"You caught me." He presses his apartment key into her palm. "I'll be looking forward to Nurse Maka later tonight."

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Hm. No promises," he says. Maka turns to go, but Soul's hand on her wrist stops her. "Be careful, yeah?"

"Of course." From the stairwell, Maka can hear the Honda's horn blare.

They drop Black*Star off next. Tsubaki drives straight to his apartment; he doesn't put up a fuss, for which Maka's grateful. As soon as she stops the car, Black*Star's out of his seatbelt and facing Maka. She's expecting him to say  _something_ , but she isn't prepared for the calculating look he's giving her.

"I don't know  _why_  you were there this afternoon. But I'm glad. Soul's a good minion, and I prefer him in one piece."

"Are you going to do something about this?" she asks.

"I told you, he's  _my_  minion. I'll find a way to do something about it." He nods decisively and turns, and Maka looks away as he presses a kiss to Tsubaki's lips. She tries to ignore the way her friend archs into it, and the heated look they exchange. "I'll call you later," he murmurs, and then he's out of the car and sauntering into a decent looking apartment complex.

From her seat Tsubaki clears her throat. "You...wanna sit up front?"

* * *

The apartment is completely dark when they get back, and it's surreal to be coming home before last call. Tsubaki hits the lights, and Maka fights the urge to shuffle over to the couch and pass out. She still feels incredibly stressed, but mostly just exhausted as the last of the adrenaline drains from her system. She looks up and locks gazes with Tsubaki, neither quite willing or sure how to start the conversation, how to ask the first question.

The silence shatters as Maka's stomach gurgles loud enough to wake the dead.

Tsubaki grins a little, and Maka flushes. "Hungry?"

"Um, just a touch."

Tsubaki moves around the kitchen. "Want anything in particular?"

"Tsubaki, you don't have to cook for me. I can do it myself," Maka protests, reaching for a pan. Tsubaki holds it out of her reach.

"I like cooking, Maka. It's  _fine_." Maka kind of wants to protest, but Tsubaki pulls a box of mac and cheese from the cabinet, and shakes it. "Best comfort food," she offers, and Maka nods slightly. She's addled, but not enough that she doesn't recognize this as Tsubaki's way of apologizing.

She wants to accept it quietly and move on. What comes out of her mouth instead is, "I'm not saying that I'm not glad Black*Star was there tonight, because I am. I'm just not sure  _why_  he was there."

Tsubaki shuts off the faucet and puts the pot on the stove. "It wasn't intentional," she says finally, glancing over her shoulder. "He was there when you called, and I couldn't get rid of him."

"Couldn't get rid-"

"He could hear you over the phone. You were kind of loud." Tsubaki clicks on the burner and leans against the countertop, crossing her arms. "Besides, I don't think the real question here is why Black*Star was there. What the  _hell_  were you doing, Maka?!"

Maka stiffens. Of all the reactions she was expecting from her roommate, this was not one of them. "What do you mean? I was doing my damned job! I'm supposed to be helping take down a criminal organization, Tsubaki. There are inherent risks involved."

" _Pink hair_ , Maka? I heard what Soul said. What the hell is going on? I thought Chrona-"

"Yeah. I thought so, too," Maka snaps, voice cold. She didn't want to deal with this, didn't want to face the fact that her friend was not only alive, but apparently working for her enemy. There had been no recognition in Chrona's eyes, nothing to indicate that there was any memory of her at all. She didn't know how the kid had survived, or gotten to this point. "Chrona came out of nowhere and just went apeshit. I don't know what happened, Tsubaki. I'm going to find out, though."

The pot begins bubbling. "At what risk, Maka?" she asks quietly. She dumps the noodles into the water and stirs absently. "Soul was seriously injured tonight. It could have been you, easily."

Maka blinks rapidly. It  _should_  have been her, she wants to say. That blow had been meant for her, and Soul had taken it-thrown himself in front of her as she froze and taken the hit without a second thought. "Yeah," she rasps. "It could have been." Tsubaki looks concerned, and Maka gives her a weary half-smile. "I need to call Kid. And pack a few things. I'm going to head back to Soul's to make sure he doesn't kill himself doing something stupid in the night."

She can tell Tsubaki wants to say something else. It's on the tip of her tongue. Instead the brunette nods and turns to the fridge. "I'll let you know when the mac is done."

"Thanks."

Maka retreats to her bedroom to call her boss. There are some things that don't necessarily need to be open information to her best friend. She takes one look at her inviting bed and whines a little before grabbing a duffle bag from her closet. As tempting as her bed is, she's still got shit to do, and if she lays down, she's not sure she'll be getting back up, not even for mac and cheese.

She hits the speed dial for Kid's personal number, and starts throwing some clothes into the bag. He picks up on the third ring.

"Yes?"

"Hey Captain."

"What's the word, Albarn?"

Maka bites her lip. "We've got trouble." She appreciates the fact that Kid doesn't yell into her ear, just waits quietly for her to continue. "We went to check out the warehouses and were ambushed. Soul is severely injured, and in the rush to make sure we got him stabilized, we left Soul's bike and the...perp behind."

"Ambushed? By Medusa?"

"Not exactly."

"Albarn, what-"

"It was Chrona, Kid." Suddenly the quiet on the other end of the line is much less reassuring.

"We buried Chrona and Ragnarock, Maka. With full police honors. You identified the bodies yourself."

Her throat feels thick. "I know."

"Is there any other possibility?"

She shakes her head before remembering he can't see her. "It was Chrona, Kid. I  _know_  it was Chrona. I don't know what happened, but we buried the wrong person."

"And you what, left Chrona at the warehouse?"

"...with ah, busted kneecaps, yes."

"Jesus Christ, Maka."

"I didn't know what else to do. I called Tsubaki to come and get us, but Black*Star came too and I couldn't get away long enough to call you, and my partner was losing a lot of blood and-"

"Ok, ok. Slow down. One thing at a time. Was your cover blown?"

"I don't think so. Chrona didn't seem to recognize me at all, just kept chanting and mumbling. I couldn't make any sense of it."

"All right. Now, what do you need?"

"I need you to send someone to pick up Soul's bike and see if Chrona is still there. And I need your ok to use Stein tomorrow. Soul is going to need medication, and it's going to need to be off the books."

"Of course. I'll keep you posted on what we find."

"Thanks, boss."

"Get some sleep, Albarn. Call me if anything, and I mean  _anything_  else comes up."

"Yessir." She hangs up and checks her phone briefly. No new messages. She hopes that's a good thing. She takes one last longing look at her bed before taking her bag and leaving. She had toiletries to pack and mac and cheese to eat.

* * *

Soul's key feels strange and weighty in her fingers. She stares at it for a moment before unlocking the door as quietly as she can. If she's lucky, he'll be asleep already, drained from the physical and mental toll of the day.

If she had her choice, Maka knows she'd be passed out. Instead, she pushes the door open to the sight of Soul half sprawled on his futon, watching the TV. It takes him a moment to react to the fact that she's in his living room, and that, she thinks, is a pretty good indicator of just how worn out he must be.

"Hey," he rasps, giving her a half-hearted wave. She rolls her eyes and tosses her bag in the vicinity of the futon.

"You look like shit," she says.

He gives her a slow grin, eyes surprisingly focused. "That's a good look on you, you know."

Maka raises an eyebrow and looks down at herself. "What? Bedraggled and," she frowns, "-still spattered with your blood? Dammit." On the futon, Soul stretches a little and winces.

"I meant my jacket, actually." He thinks the pink blooming on her cheeks is a pretty good look, too, but he's not quite far enough gone to say that one out loud.

"Sorry," she murmurs, shrugging out of the leather coat. "I meant to give it back to you when we dropped you off earlier."

"It's fine. You kind of lost your hoodie, so I figured that you might be a little cold. I'll replace that by the way."

"You really don't have to," she says, shifting awkwardly.

He grins. "Ok, let me rephrase-the FBI will replace that for you. As long as you don't mind waiting 8-12 weeks for the reimbursement to come through."

"We'll see," she says, mouth quirking. "Are you hungry? Did you eat anything?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Feeling a little queasy from whatever it was Nygus gave me to keep me knocked out."

"You have any soup? Something light?"

"Maka, I'm  _fine_. You don't have to wait on me. You don't even need to be here-you should be home and relaxing."

She stiffens a little at that, but brushes off his words. "Well, too bad. You're stuck with me anyway. I'm going to make you soup."

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"What, suddenly you have a problem being taken care of? You were so excited about Nurse Maka earlier," she gives him a look he can't quite decipher as she opens a cabinet. "And here I even brought my nurse outfit."

From the futon Soul chokes a little, and Maka hides her smirk. "You do  _not_  have a nurse costume," he sputters. Maka triumphantly digs out a can of off brand chicken and rice soup.

"Well, I guess you'll never find out now, will you?" Soul gapes at her over the back of the futon. "Where the hell's your can opener?"

"Um-"

"Nevermind, found it!"

Soul watches his partner putter around his kitchenette. She stares balefully at the hotplate for a moment before sighing and digging out a microwave bowl. Her movements are sharp and efficient, and he likes the way she invades his space-like she's always been in his apartment.

"I'm starting to see exactly why you're always getting take out. It isn't the hours, it's the kitchen. Can you even cook?" She asks, putting down his bowl of soup. He scowls a little.

"Of course I can cook." It's not exactly a lie. He's never had much of a chance to do a lot of cooking for himself, but he can at least manage the basics. "Well, I can do a mean grilled cheese," he admits. "It's a little harder not having an actual kitchen to work with."

"Being able to make a good grilled cheese is an underappreciated life skill," Maka replies mildly, sitting down next to him. His hands barely shake as he tries to eat while still reclining.

"My mom certainly thought so. Fortunately, my brother knew the true value of a perfect grilled cheese." He slurps his soup and keeps his eyes trained on the TV.

"Sounds like a smart guy," she offers. Soul nods, and despite her urge to pry, she doesn't inquire further. She's shocked when, after a few more spoons of soup, Soul offers,

"He is. He's the one who helped me build my bike." He gives her a weighty stare. "My baby. That you made me leave at the warehouse."

"Well, what were we supposed to do, Soul?"

"I don't  _know_. I did ask if you could drive stick.  _Can_  you?"

Maka's face goes scarlet. So  _that's_  what that had been about. Stupid, stupid- "That's hardly the point," she snaps, avoiding his question. "There's no way I was going to leave you bleeding out just to move your stupid bike!"

"It's not stupid," he scowls, setting his bowl on the coffee table.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. What's done is done." She snatches his bowl and stomps into the kitchen. "Besides. Kid is going to send someone to take care of it."

"Take care of it  _how_?" For a brief moment, his mind is filled with images of his motorcycle, mangled and scrapped.

"He's probably just going to send someone to bring it to the station. It'll be fine. Tomorrow we're going to go and get you some pain meds, and see...what else needs to be taken care of." Her throat feels strangely thick again, and Soul, hearing the catch in her voice, shifts on the futon to look at her.

"You told him?"

She shoots him a look. "Of course I told him. He's my captain. He was...Chrona's captain, too. I had to tell him."

"What's he going to do about it?"

Maka shrugs her shoulder, rinsing the bowl. "They're going to...see if Chrona's still where I left him when they pick up your bike. From there-I don't know. Maybe exhume the body, see if there's any way to find out who it was I  _actually_  identified." She hears the squeak of the futon springs as she shuts off the water, and a small grunt from Soul, and then he's shuffling across the room.

"Hey," he murmurs, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You gonna be ok?" She turns, eyes dark and mouth tight. He'd gotten rid of Nygus's scrubs before she'd gotten there, and her eyes are drawn to the faded plaid of his flannel shirt. He didn't bother to button the whole thing up, and she can see the bandages wrapped around his torso. The irony of his question is not lost on her.

She doesn't want to look at his face and see the pity she thinks might be there, so she focuses on the worn-through fabric at the hem of his collar instead. "Yeah," she says, shrugging her shoulder. Soul's hand remains firm, warmth sinking in through her shirt.

"Just like that, you're fine?" he asks, skepticism clear in his voice.

"I will be. There's nothing I can do about it now," she snaps. Soul sighs softly; her eyes are glued to his collar, and if she's actually that fascinated by faded flannel, he'll  _let_  them scrap his bike.

"Hey." Unbidden, his hand slips up to cup her cheek, and while he gets her to face him, her eyes keep slipping away, looking anywhere  _but_  at him. "It's not your fault."

She flicks her eyes at him for a second, and then it's back to staring at his collar. "Except it is. I identified Chrona and Ragnarock. They didn't do DNA on my identification. If they had, maybe we would have had more to go on with Medusa, and she wouldn't have gotten away in the first place and-"

"Maka. Stop." To his complete surprise, Maka does stop, her mouth gaping. He's aware that he shouldn't find that cute, but then her jaw snaps shut, and she meets his eyes. There's something there that he can't quite place-

"I can't, Soul. I have to do this."

His shoulders slump a little, and she tries to ignore the feeling of his palm on her cheek, fingertips just brushing the slipping strands of her hair. "Just try to remember you're not in this on your own, ok?" She blinks slowly and allows a moment for  _what if_ before she nods, mouth quirking slightly.

"I know."

* * *

She eventually gets Soul settled in his room, despite numerous protests that he wasn't, in fact, tired at all, and would she please stop mothering him, and no that wasn't a yawn. Maka pretends that she doesn't see the occasional worried glance he gives her, or that they're really more than glances. She knows that she shouldn't blame herself for this mess, not really.

But the rage and the hurt she'd thought she was past kept boiling to the surface, augmented by her confusion. She can't make the pieces fit, and it gnaws at her-snarling failure and incompetence. She props her feet up on Soul's coffee table, leans her head back, and stares at the ceiling for a while. From the bedroom, she can hear Soul's soft snores.


	12. Putting Out the Fire with Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Giriko thinks he knows what's what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note of warning; this chapter is heavy on the Giriko, which means somewhat more of the foul language, and some disturbing violence. I've tried to not make it gratuitous, but here's your heads up anyway!

Chapter 12- Putting out the fire with gasoline

* * *

Sundays are the slowest nights at Chupa Cabra's. There are fewer dancers, fewer servers- even the music isn't as loud. It makes Giriko twitchy. Twitchier. He doesn't deal well with the quiet, doesn't like solitude unless it's just him and a broad or maybe the sound of cracking skulls. He's not a picky guy. Tonight's been far too quiet.

Quiet enough that when his cell goes off and he sees it's Medusa, he doesn't keep her waiting like he would normally. Boredom far outweighs his inherent dislike of the woman.

"What?"

"We have a situation. Meet me in my office." She doesn't even wait for an affirmation, and Giriko glares at the phone in irritation. He wouldn't mind this assignment from Arachne so much if Medusa weren't such a raging bitch all the time. He pushes back from his table noisily, conscious of the wary glances from the few other patrons and several of the staff. He smirks, enjoying their attentiveness and knowing that it's the result of their fear, and chucks back the rest of his Jack and Coke.

He makes his way back towards the private rooms and briefly catches the eye of Blair. There is nothing nice in the way he leers at her, teeth bared. She smiles back, but there's a tightness to her mouth and around her eyes that he doesn't miss. He knows that look and the fear behind it; he knows that the buxom club manager would sooner see him knifed in an alley than have to play nice with him, and he knows that she'd never dare. Giriko is secure in his position- both in Arachnophobia and within Chupa Cabra's. The only one here who could challenge him is Medusa, and she wouldn't dare harm Arachne's favorite lieutenant, especially not while he's only on loan to her.

It's even quieter in the hall, despite the noise of his shoes on the marble floor. He slips into a dead-end corridor and presses and holds down a small, slightly off-colored bit of molding. Giriko grins to himself. He has to hand it to Medusa- if she hadn't shown him this little trick, he's not sure he ever would have found her secret office. After a moment, the wall swings open with a whisper.

For a second, Giriko could swear that he sees something small and metallic flash, but it's gone in an instant, and he puts it out of his mind as he sets into Medusa's office.

She's arranged it so her desk is the first thing he sees as he comes in, massive and some kind of dark, shiny wood that screams "expensive" and "overcompensating." Giriko doesn't bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Medusa smiles thinly and makes an expansive gesture.

"Sit," she says, and it's clearly not an invitation. He contemplates standing for a moment, just to irritate her, but he's lazy, and at least her furniture is comfortable. Medusa sips at her drink, eyes never leaving his face. Giriko crosses his arms and waits because he's not going to give her the satisfaction of letting the silence get to him. "We've got a problem," she finally says.

"So you mentioned. What about it?"

"You recall your little...incident at the warehouse the other day?"

Giriko grits his teeth. "That wasn't. My. Fault." He doesn't care how neutral her voice may sound, it still drips with accusation in his ears.

She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Ultimately, I don't care whose fault it was, it was  _your_  responsibility. My shipment is still gone. I sent Chrona to investigate the scene of your _failure_ -"

He can hear the sneer in her voice this time. She doesn't bother trying to hide it, and it might bother him except he doesn't really give a fuck about what Medusa thinks of him. Really.

"Investigate what? I told you, it was that shitty Star clan leftover and his little buddy, Eater."

"So you've said. But it never hurts to be thorough, does it, Giriko? Not everything is what it seems on the surface," she says, lips curling mockingly. "Perhaps that's a lesson you ought to learn."

There's something in her voice, in her words, that rankles Giriko, something more than just the snide insinuation of his shortcomings; he can't quite figure out what her angle is and just what, exactly, she's hinting at. Not for the first time, Giriko wonders why Arachne sent him to watch Medusa if she  _didn't_ want the woman killed. He tells himself that he deserves a medal for his restraint. "So, what does this have to do with me?"

"Chrona should have reported back to me more than an hour ago. You're going to go check and make sure that nothing's gone wrong for my little pet."

Giriko knows Chrona, and while he doesn't know everything, he knows that the freak is so far gone on Medusa's specialized drug cocktail that he doubts Chrona still has the mental capacity to remember what orders Medusa gave in the first place. "And if something has gone wrong for your little  _pet_?"

"I'm sure that you'll know how to take care of it, Giriko. That's part of why my darling sister lent you out to me, isn't it?"

He grunts in response and stands. He's almost at the door when he turns and gives her a look. "And what if the problem's  _with_  your pet?"

She doesn't bother looking up from the papers at her desk. "Then perhaps it's time for a new pet." Giriko marvels at the cold flatness of her voice. "I trust you'll keep me informed, Giriko."

He grunts again, shrugging a shoulder as he leaves.

* * *

The first thing he sees when he pulls up to the warehouse is a bright orange motorcycle that makes his blood boil. Giriko isn't sure whether to feel smug or irritated. He knew that Eater was involved in this clusterfuck, and as far as he's concerned, this just proves that he was the one who made off with that shipment. Grinning, Giriko cracks his knuckles. If there's any sort of justice in the universe, Eater's bike means he's still hanging around, and Giriko wants to see the look of surprise on that albino fuck's face when he beats the shit out of him-this time without any obnoxious sluts or uppity blue-haired freaks to get in the way.

He parks in the street, not wanting to be seen if his prey is still in the area, and slinks into the warehouse compound. Giriko checks inside the warehouse closest to Eater's bike first. This was where the exchange should have taken place to begin with, and he's surprised when he finds no trace of either Eater or Chrona. The warehouse is quiet, too- just that kind of quiet that sets his teeth on edge. Jaw clenched, he moves through the warehouse. His eyes miss the scuff marks on the floor, but not the fact that the door into the next building has been jimmied- well, almost expertly even, but still jimmied.

Quietly, he unholsters his gun, checking the safety. He's not sure just what he'll find on the other side of that door, and for one brief moment, Giriko wishes he used a gun more often. But hell, it's only Eater, and he's never seen the little prick bother with packing heat before. Why should this time be any different? Besides, what he lacks in aim, he's pretty sure he can make up for in quickness. A spray of bullets will get that little bastard dead enough. Giriko can feel his heart beat just a little faster, senses heightened as he stares down the door.

All or nothing.

He slams his foot against the warehouse door and it offers no resistance, slamming inward. Giriko knows what he's expecting. The problem is, it doesn't even remotely match up to what he finds, which is Chrona in the middle of the warehouse floor, writhing in what he's pretty sure is agony. Giriko finds it hard to judge because the kid is curled against the concrete, muttering non-stop, cheeks wet with tears, despite the fact that both kneecaps look busted. In spite of himself and his dislike of Chrona, Giriko is more than a little impressed.

He takes a moment to check out the rest of the warehouse. There's not a single soul in sight, and very little in the way of hiding. On the floor, Chrona begins to giggle hysterically, and Giriko revises his opinion somewhat as he puts away his gun and takes out his cell. Medusa picks up on the second ring.

"Yes?"

"I found your pet," he sneers, nudging the figure with his boot.

"And?"

"The kid's pretty fucked up."

"Any idea who the culprit was?"

"Eater's fuglyass bike is parked loud and proud outside, so I'd say that's a pretty good indicator."

"And is Eater still there?"

"Nah, looks like he hightailed it the fuck outta here. Probably with Black*Star if I had to guess." Chrona twists a little, and Giriko notes the broken wrist with mild disinterest. Eyes wide and staring, Chrona begins to mutter loud enough that Giriko can actually make out the words.

"Clean gotta clean she said to clean no ties cutcutcut," the words are hurried and strained. Over the phone, Giriko can feel Medusa's interest.

"What's that?"

"Muttering," Giriko snaps and holds the cell towards his charge.

"Shesaid...said...not supposed to be here, nonono _ragnarock_ \- made a mess gotta clean Ma-" Chrona cuts off with a strangled gasp of pain just as Giriko starts to get interested.

"Chatty little thing, huh?"

Medusa's voice is eerily calm. "Indeed. Can you make anything of it?"

Giriko rolls his shoulders. "It's all gibberish to me. Your pet's pretty fucked in the head, you know? Way the place reads though- I think I was right about our little friend Eater and his buddy."

"You still think they're trying to scam me? Stealing my shipments?"

He doesn't know what to make of the sudden amusement in her voice. "It looks pretty fucking clear from where I'm standing. Why else would Eater be here?"

At her desk, phone pressed casually between her shoulder and ear, Medusa smiles. This is better than anything she could have cooked up. Why else, indeed. Once again, she finds herself grateful that Arachne saddled her with such a malleable pawn. "Perhaps we do have a little rat in our ranks, then. How badly is Chrona hurt?"

The non-sequitur throws him for a second. "Uhh, shattered knees. Fucked up wrist. Eater and Star were pretty thorough."

"You think they were trying to get Chrona to talk?"

Her words spark something in Giriko, and he looks at the whimpering lackey with new eyes. Could Eater and Black*Star have done this just to get information from Chrona? If so, why didn't they finish the job? "They must've been," he mutters after a long moment. "I bet they got scared off when they heard me pull up, and ran, and that's why Eater's bike's still here and Chrona isn't maggot bait right now."

She doesn't chuckle over the line, but it's a close thing. "Hm," she says instead, injecting just the right amount of consideration and thoughtfulness into her tone. "If they tried to get Chrona to talk, you had better find out just what they know now."

"How you want me to take care of that?" Giriko stares at the pink-haired mess on the floor. He's got a couple of ideas already.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something. I think it's time for a new pet anyway," she echoes their earlier conversation and Giriko's mouth curls sadistically as he ends the call.

Miles away, Medusa hangs up and pours herself another drink, secure in the knowledge that her not so little deceit is safe.

* * *

He's just wiping the blood off his favorite knife- a serrated, nasty piece of work- when the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Giriko isn't the smartest, but he's always been canny and he doesn't ignore his instincts. It's given him a relatively long and very lucrative career as a bad man.

He looks down at the bloody mess on the concrete and wonders for the first time if he's perhaps enjoyed his task just a little _too_  much. There isn't much to look at anymore- just a lot of cherry black blood and the faint rise and fall of Chrona's rasping breath. The freak had been uncooperative at best, though Giriko couldn't really blame Chrona for that. The kid was already so pumped full of drugs, brain addled and rotting, that it's a wonder he got even the gibberish he did. It was frustrating, and he let himself get just a _little_  out of hand.

However, it wasn't like Medusa frequently gave him the go ahead to free-for-all. Really, his enthusiasm was more than understandable.

Confident that he'd gotten all he could out of Medusa's little pet, he traded his knife for his gun. "I figure," he says after a long moment, "you've earned this." Chrona's eyes, pale and gray flicker rapidly and Giriko smiles, cocking the hammer.

Which is the precise moment when the prickle on the back of his neck turns into sirens. Giriko freezes for a moment. His car is on the street. If he goes _now_ , he can get away. Below him, Chrona struggles for another breath. The blood is sluggish, but still flowing, and Giriko knows what death looks like. He holsters his gun once more and eases out of the building. The cops aren't there yet, but he can see the approaching flicker of blue and red.

By the time they arrive, Giriko has slipped into the driver's seat of his car, slumping low enough that he's completely out of sight. He hears the slamming of doors, and the shouts of the police, and starts his engine. It purrs to life, and he eases away from the curb, headlights off. Giriko is not the most intelligent, no. But he's clever and quick, and confident of the job he's done. Most importantly, he's away from the warehouse before any of the officers remember there might have been a car parked on the street.

* * *

Kid had worked very hard to not jump to conclusions once he hung up with Albarn, but ultimately, it was a losing battle. He had thrown on clothes and grabbed his shield and carefully pulled the covers up on his side of the bed, all while attempting to keep his mind as blank as possible. He had called ahead for a couple of squad cars and thrown his emergency light on the hood of his personal vehicle, increasingly elaborate visions of what was waiting for him dancing in his brain.

The reality is, unsurprisingly, nothing like his overactive imagination. In a lot of ways, he's relieved. In others, he's bone-weary of the song and dance that he and his precinct have gone through in the last couple of years. He wants this Medusa business done and case closed. He wants  _this_  to be the big break they're looking for.

Instead, he finds a dilapidated warehouse with Agent Evans' bike out front and no sign of anyone else. They kill the sirens as soon as they pull into the lot, but leave the lights flashing. The flicker against worn buildings is both a warning and a promise. Then, with careful precision, they make their way through the warehouses. When they find Chrona, even Kid's overactive imagination has a hard time coping.

He'd thought he might find a lot of things, but he hadn't expected anything like this. Unless Maka was lying to him, someone else had gotten to Chrona in the hours since Maka and Soul had left. He blanches as the sickly copper smell invades his nose, more familiar than he'd like, and he wants to be sick. He's already got his radio out, calling in the paramedics.

Kid never thought he'd be here again, standing over Chrona's body. The difference is that this time the kid isn't a cop, isn't one of his, and, as far as he can tell, Chrona is still breathing. Barely, but it's enough. He sends the rest of his team to search the other buildings. Since they're here, he's going to get as much as they can from the damn place.

Mind working frantically, he stays with his former officer until the familiar scream of the ambulance arrives, and they load Chrona up. He radios for a small detail to meet the ambulance at DC General, then turns and shakes off the heavy weight on his heart. He's got a scene to monitor, and an exhumation order he needs to authorize.

* * *

Chupa Cabra's hasn't livened up much since Giriko left, and he's eager to conclude his business with Medusa and find his own entertainment for the rest of the night. The adrenaline from his interrogation and subsequent successful escape is still coursing through his veins and he wants nothing more than a few corner girls no one's going to miss for the rest of the night and maybe part of tomorrow.

Sunshine's on the stage, but he barely glances at her; Giriko doesn't waste time, just strides to the back of the club and into Medusa's private office, skin twitching. He feels powerful, and he likes that, likes looking at Medusa when he feels like this- like she's nothing and doesn't have control over him.

"Is it taken care of?" She only barely glances up at him, as if sensing his mood and refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"You should probably start looking for a new pet," he confirms, teeth sharp as he grins.

Medusa gives him a secretive smile. "Perhaps. Did you learn what I needed?"

"There wasn't much left in that fruitloop  _to_  learn. I got nothing but gibberish out of Chrona, and I doubt Eater got much more than that."

Her eyes narrow. "Humor me. What did Chrona say?"

Giriko shrugs a shoulder. "Spent a lot of time muttering about being clean. Something about someone not being where they should be or who they should be?"

"Any names?" Medusa grips the arm of her chair a little tighter and keeps her voice as even as possible.

"Nothing I really could make out. A couple of half-witted 'ma's." Giriko sniggers a little at that. "Calling for mama- now if that isn't the oldest trick in the book."

"Anything else?"

"Something about a...rag-a-lock," he stumbles over the unfamiliar syllables. "Kept talking about a 'she,' but no specifics. The kid kept talking about being dead." He smirks. "Hey, maybe he was some kind of fortuneteller, huh?" Giriko laughs, but it dies off when he realizes that Medusa isn't sharing his joke. "That's it. I don't think Eater got shit out of Chrona. Fuck knows I didn't, and I spent a  _lot_  of time and...care making sure that I did. Either way, the kid's not talking to anyone now. I made sure of that before I had to run."

Her eyes narrow. "Had to run?"

"Yeah. Just as I was finishing up, I got sirens, and then I got the fuck out."

Medusa is quiet for a long moment. Finally, she lets out a slow breath and gives her lackey a measured smile. "Well then. Good work, Giriko. You can expect your regular bonus." She pauses, finger tapping thoughtfully on her chin. "And perhaps a little something extra for an exceptional job."

"That's what I'm fucking talking about."

* * *

He leaves soon after. Medusa doesn't want to know where he intends to go, and blocks out his cheerful prattle. Giriko's love of wanton violence and sadistic tendencies irritates her, but he's a necessary pawn and she can afford to keep his leash a little loose.

Losing Chrona was something that she knew was going to happen eventually, and she couldn't complain, really. She got more than her share of use out of her "little pet," and even though her experiments weren't fully finished, she had gotten more than enough data from Chrona's prolonged exposure to Black Blood.

Giriko's comments about the sudden arrival of the DCPD and the involvement of both Eater and Black*Star have her mind churning. She's close to implementing the last few stages of her biggest operation yet, and the last thing that she needs is some undercover fuckheads messing up her plans for Arachnophobia. She doesn't like the idea that they might have been able to glean any information at all from Chrona, but given what Giriko was able to learn, she's not too worried. She's pretty sure that she's the only person who can pull together the garbled nonsense from Chrona's fragmented brain into something that makes sense.

She smiles and stands, stretching. Oh well, she thinks. Forewarned is forearmed, and she's got all the cards neatly stacked in her favor. She's dealt with the DCPD before.

* * *

She gets the call from Kid sometime in the wee hours of the morning, and for a long moment, Maka doesn't remember where she is. Kid is telling her something that she tries to focus on, but she's still mostly asleep and trying to not remember the dream she'd been having.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Kid's sigh is loud in her ear, and she struggles to pay attention.

"I said that we were successful in our extraction. Everything was just as you said it was, and we secured both Chrona and Evans' bike."

She can feel a little bit of the tension in her shoulders ease, though it doesn't do much for the headache she can feel beginning. "Oh, that's...good." Except she's greeted with a heavy silence from her boss, and the tension is back in full force. "Or isn't it? Captain?"

She can hear Kid's soft exhale over the receiver, and she sits up, the last of the fog clearing from her brain. "It's complicated," he says finally.

"How?"

"Someone got to Chrona after you lot cleared out and before we could get there. We're not sure who, exactly, but it was messy. Very, very messy."

Her mind recalls the sound of Chrona's bones shattering and the feel of it through her asp and she thinks that she's going to be sick. She swallows back the bile, and forces her words out. "How messy?"

"Well, Chrona was still breathing when we got there, but it was close. Severe lacerations in addition to the- other damage. And there's no telling what frame of mind-"

"There's not much frame of mind  _there_ , Kid," Maka whispers. "There's a reason I had to break bones- it was like Chrona didn't recognize me, even a little. I got the wrist first, and you know that's usually enough to stop someone. Chrona didn't even hesitate- it was like all sense of pain was cut off." She can't even pretend this doesn't affect her.

"I'll let the doctors know," Kid assures her. It's not as comforting as she hopes. "In the meantime, since we definitely know Chrona's alive now, we're going ahead with the exhumation."

"Who'd you find?"

"Erm. Mjolnir was the only one who would pick up."

"Marie "The Hammer" Mjolnir? I can't figure out if that's going to work in our favor or not. Jesus, Kid."

"She was the only one who would pick up at 4 AM."

Maka can't help but crack a small smile at the petulant tone in her boss's voice. "Well, you're the one who's going to have to deal with her." Kid's noncommittal noise on the other end of the line is not as reassuring as she would like, but she's too tired to fight at the moment.

"The important thing is that she signed the order. We'll start in the morning."

"It isn't morning?"

"Well, at first light. You want to be there?"

For a moment, she's torn. On the one hand, yes. She thought she'd buried her friend, and this was something like closure. On the other, she had a partner who needed looking after, and after the events of last night, she wasn't entirely sure that she'd be able to hold herself together.

"Are you taking the body to Stein?"

"Yes."

She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Ok. Call me when you do. I need to get those pills from him anyway."

"I'll let you know." Kid stops, and for a second, she thinks that they're done. "Good work out there, Albarn. Both you and Evans." He can't see her wince, and for that she's eternally grateful.

"Thanks Captain," she says automatically. She hangs up and slumps back down on the futon.

It doesn't feel like good work. It still feels like failure. Failure to keep her charges safe back then and failure to keep her own partner safe now. Her phone is still loosely in her grip, and she checks the time. 4:45 AM.

She wants to go back to bed, but she's not sure that she can. The ceiling calls to her and when she looks at her phone again, still wide awake, it's only 4:50. With a sigh, she slides off the futon and paces around the efficiency. It doesn't take her long to make a complete circuit...about six times. She doesn't even realize she's doing it until she finds her feet slowing outside of Soul's door.

It's a breach of privacy, and she knows that she shouldn't, but she carefully twists the handle on his door and creeps in as quietly as she can. Her partner's still sleeping, and she envies him that, even if it is a fitful slumber. She worries about that a little- that's he's going to strain something or bust a stitch and be in even more pain. She already feels guilty enough.

As carefully as she opened his door, she reaches out and ghosts her hand along his. He stills, and she fears for a moment that she's woken him up. Instead, he just grunts a little and appears to continue sleeping soundly. He stays quiet, and with a small sigh of her own, Maka slumps down onto the floor. Her head falls to the side, and the side of his mattress isn't so bad and she'll just sit there for a moment to make sure that Soul doesn't start twitching again. Just in case.

* * *

He's not sure what it is that wakes him up. His back aches in the way that it does when he's been sleeping on his back for too long, but that's nothing compared to the deep, sharp ache in his chest. He's about to sit up when he hears a faint snore coming from the side of his bed.

Soul's eyebrows creep steadily towards his hairline when he catches a glimpse of pale brown hair peeking up past the edge of his mattress. Carefully, mindful of the stitches pulling at his skin, he confirms that his partner has fallen asleep on the floor, leaning against his bed. He can't help the smile that spreads across his face as he reaches out and rests his hand on her crown.

"Makaa- hey, Maka," he whispers. She stirs faintly against his palm and he fights faint quickening he can feel in his chest. "Maakaaaaa."

She groans softly and he holds his breath, and then he can feel Maka come awake all at once; her body tenses and her head jerks under his hand. "Soul?"

"Hey." His voice is gravelly from sleep and she recognizes that low tone as what dragged her from her nap in the first place. Her face heats up.

"Is everything ok?" She doesn't look up at him.

"Yeah. Why are you on the floor?"

She doesn't have a response for that that she wants to share. How does she tell him that she was worried and guilty and that she still feels like she's going to be sick? "I-"

"You know, that's a really shitty place to sleep. Uncomfortable as fuck, and I speak from experience."

His words distract her. "Spend a lot of nights on the floor?" she asks, taking a chance to look up at him finally.

"I was actually talking about the futon," he grins. "But the floor's not much better." He doesn't think about the way his fingers have started tangling themselves in her hair, and Soul wonders if she knows she's leaning into his touch.

"It wasn't too bad," she protests.

"Mm. Then why are you in here?"

She tenses again, and for a long moment, he's positive that he pushed too much, and she's going to pull away. "Just checking on you," she finally says, voice carefully light.

He's not stupid. He knows the toll that the last day's taken on his partner, and no matter how much she tries to remain nonchalant, he's not fooled for one minute. He sucks in a breath and takes a chance. "Then check up on me up here." He removes his hand slowly and lets his words sink in.

He has to remind himself to breathe when she finally stands. Her eyes are the greenest he's ever seen, and they make his chest hurt in a whole different way.

"Well? Are you going to move over, Agent Tubs?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's a strong, independent woman don't need no help.

Chapter 13- I don't do too well on my own

* * *

He didn't think it was possible for his chest to hurt anymore than it did the night before, but as Soul wakes up, he learns that he was badly mistaken. Everything aches, and he wants to pass right back out, but the pain makes it impossible. He groans, and shifts on his side a little. He meets resistance and freezes.

Maka stirs, and he hisses involuntarily as her fingers slip over his stitches. Drifting in and out of wakefulness,  _that_  snaps her conscious in a hurry.

"Soul?" She sits up suddenly, and he winces.

"You expecting someone else?" Any worry she might have harbored disappears, and the glare that she shoots him is almost worth the jostling.

"You're awfully mouthy for a guy with a giant slice in his chest."

He rolls carefully onto his back, and she shifts automatically to accommodate him. "It's because I'm in _pain_. And _starving_."

"You're always starving."

"You're a very observant partner, you know." He couches it as teasing, but he means it, and he thinks that she can pick that out. Her lips quirk slightly, and she wonders at the fact that they're in bed together and it's not as awkward as she would have thought.

"Well, I can take care of one of those things immediately, at least. Assuming you have anything to eat in here?"

"Um."

Maka raises an eyebrow. "Well then." She slips out of his bed and pads her way towards the kitchenette, pausing long enough to fix her partner with a stern glare. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog, Maka." Her brow creeps up a little further, and he huffs, "Yes, ma'am." She at least waits to smile until her back is fully turned.

The microwave flashes the time, and she tries not to think about 9:17 AM and how early that is and why this keeps happening. His fridge is pretty bare, which was about what she suspected, but one of the tiny cabinets yields a few packs of instant oatmeal and a questionably aged packet of s'mores Poptarts that make her sigh and roll her eyes. She starts the coffee, and it's the work of a few minutes to make up the oatmeal in the microwave. The Poptarts taunt her from the counter, and she scowls at them as the microwave beeps.

Juggling two cups of coffee and two bowls of oatmeal is not the easiest thing she's done, and she finds it ironic that her time at Chupa Cabra's has probably made it possible.

"You got that all right?" In her absence, he'd managed to prop himself up on his bed, and she doesn't miss the sickly pallor of his normally tan skin. She gives him a frown.

"I've got it. I _thought_  I told you to stay."

"I didn't go anywhere." He takes the coffees out of her hands, placing hers on the nightstand, and she hands over his oatmeal and sits on the edge of the bed.

"You're going to strain something, and then you're going to regret it."

"Nygus is good at her job, I'll be fine."

"Has it escaped your brain that Nygus is a vet?" she says, incredulous.

He sucks in air over a mouthful of hot oatmeal. "Of course I haven't forgotten. That wasn't the first time we've had to use her."

She doesn't look impressed. "Yeah, so I gathered." She doesn't ask, but it doesn't take a mind reader to know that she wants more information.

"Mira Nygus is married to one Sid Barrett." He takes a sip of his coffee. "I met her not long after Black*Star...adopted me. Most of my visits to her have been directly in relation to some stunt he's pulled, and I wouldn't have even known about her connection to Sid until you mentioned his name the other night. Vet or not, she _does_  know what she's doing."

She doesn't want to admit that Soul's right; she'd seen Nygus work, and the woman was skilled. "Most?"

He shrugs a shoulder carefully. "Well, I have been infiltrating a massive organized crime syndicate. Accidents happen."

"I'm sure they do. Having Black*Star for a partner hasn't helped, I'm sure." She's not sure why she feels the need to keep pushing the issue.

Soul gives her a wicked grin over his coffee mug. "How about we play a little game of you-show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine? I _know_  you haven't survived your years on the force unscathed."

"I think I've already seen everything worth seeing. Besides, I hardly think you're in any position to be showing me anything," she says dryly, one eyebrow arched.

"Only one way to find out," he wiggles his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes, but he'll take it because she's got that little grin playing around the corners of her mouth again.

"I think you're actually delirious. I wouldn't have thought the infection would have set in so quickly, but clearly it's gone to your brain, and we'll have to amputate."

"But I need that."

"Could have fooled me," she teases.

They're almost done with their breakfast when her cell goes off, sending her digging around in the pocket of her sweat pants. Her caller i.d. confirms it's Kid, and she answers with a brisk, "Hello?"

"Morning, Albarn."

"Captain. What's the word?"

"Body's up. We're transporting the remains to Stein now."

Beside her, Soul gives her a look. She stares at the wall. "Understood. I'll be there shortly."

"What'd he say?" he asks as she hangs up.

"Looks like it's go time."

"Did he say anything about Chrona?" He doesn't miss her faint cringe.

"He said last night they'd brought Chrona in, still alive, if only barely." She takes his empty bowl and slides off the bed. "I'm going to get dressed," she murmurs, and he nods, eyes still intent on her as she leaves.

She puts their bowls in the little sink and runs some water over them. The motion belies a kind of domestic familiarity, despite the differences in their apartments and kitchens. For one brief moment, she closes her eyes and contemplates another scene-one where she's not a cop and he's not a fed and they're not in danger from the country's biggest crime organization, where there isn't this lingering pain in her heart, and maybe Soul's laying in bed waiting for her in an entirely different context. She can feel her face heating up, and shakes her head violently. These kinds of daydreams, these _urges_ , aren't like her. She's gotta keep her head in the game.

She blinks down at the sink and shuts off the water. At the very least, she can take care of the bowls when she gets back. But for now, she's got work to do. She grabs her overnight bag from next to the futon and slips into the bathroom. Ratty sweats are exchanged for comfortable jeans and a buttondown. She'll save the shower for later. She brushes her hair back into a low ponytail and shoves on a baseball cap. With the addition of her hoodie-

She stops and frowns in the mirror. Her hoodie is currently in shreds and soaked with Soul's blood. With a groan, Maka rubs the bridge of her nose.

Soul's still propped up against his pillows when she peeks her head back in his room. "Can I aaaah-ask you for a favor?"

Startled, he stumbles. "Uh-yeah, sure. Anything."

"Do you-haveahoodieIcanborrow?"

It takes him a minute to parse her question, but once he does, he grins. "You sure you don't want to wait for that FBI reimbursement?"

Maka rolls her eyes. "Soul-"

"Relax, it's cool. Check the closet; there ought to be one in there. Unless you want to borrow my jacket again?" He looks hopefully at her back, and hopes that she doesn't notice.

Maka hesitates, already halfway in his closet. The thought is incredibly tempting. "Nah. I need the hood."

"Suit yourself. It should be in there."

His closet is surprisingly neat and sparse. It doesn't take her long to find the hoodie, but she can't help but linger over the selection of suits he's got squirreled away. She knows it's a part of his job at the FBI, but she's yet to see him in anything other than street clothes and scrubs. She can't quite wrap her head around Soul in a full suit. She slips on the hoodie and closes the door to the closet. The thing is huge on her, almost a much as Soul's leather jacket had been, but she kind of likes it. She flips the hood up.

"How do I look?"

From the bed, Soul's expression is almost unreadable. "Like that thing's about to swallow you."

"Good," she grins. "Oh, before I go-"

Soul blinks and she's gone, slipping back into the living room. There's something happening in the vicinity of his chest that's got nothing to do with stitches and everything to do with his partner's burgeoning habit of borrowing his clothes and dodging his concern.

She pops her head back in a moment later and tosses something at him fast enough that he doesn't have a chance to react. "I'll see what I can do about your precious baby," she makes a face at the thought of his bike. "Also, hopefully that oughtta tide you over if you get hungry before I get back." He looks down at the foil packet of Poptarts. By the time he looks up again, she's gone, and he can hear the front door shutting.

Soul holds up the packet and tries to remember the last time he bought Poptarts.

* * *

It's a grey day outside, matching her mood, and Maka hopes that it will at least wait to rain until she can catch a bus. She left her bag at Soul's, instead choosing to travel light with her wallet and phone. The little vial they went through all that trouble to find in the warehouse is shoved into the front pocket of her jeans. She slips her earbuds in, but doesn't turn the music on. Maka jogs to a bus stop-not the nearest to Soul's apartment, but one a few blocks away, and lets the steady pounding of her heart and the slow burn in her calves soothe her.

Days like today, she misses her regular morning jogs, misses that time when she can just let everything around her go and focus on the _thump thump_  of her feet against the pavement. Some people do yoga. Maka jogs (excepting, of course, those days when Tsubaki is home and manages to bully her into a DVD of bikram). The bus stop is pretty dead, and she keeps Soul's hood pulled low and her eyes moving.

She ignores the 5 bus in favor of the 23. The 5 would take her two blocks from Stein's office, but after last night, she's feeling more than a little paranoid. She'll switch buses midtown and take the 17 to the Death City Public Library and walk the five blocks. It's a simple trick, but a fairly effective one, even if it does double her transit time. As she exits the 23, she slips out of the hoodie and pulls off her baseball cap as inconspicuously as possible. Earbuds out and tucked into her pocket, cap folded into a little hoodie bundle, and suddenly she's a dressed down young professional and not a high school delinquent.

Forty-five minutes later, she walks into the old brick building that houses the DC County Coroner's office. The smell of the place is the kind of familiar that invades your bones, and she's reminded once again how frequently she's been a visitor here.

They stuck Stein down in the basement, despite his position as county medical examiner. She's never been able to figure out if his placement was  _his_ idea or the county's. It's hard to tell with Frank. She knocks on the door to his office and waits for the quiet, "Enter."

Dr. Frank Stein looked pretty much exactly the same now as he did when Maka had first met him more than ten years ago. He and her father had gone to school together, and Spirit was fond of using Stein as a resource on tough cases. Her mother would have had a royal shit fit if she had found out that Spirit was letting her tag along to the morgue, but by that point she was long gone, and Maka had tried not to think about her too much.

Stein looks up from the organized chaos that is his desk as she walks in. "Ah, Maka. I was expecting you."

"Yeah, sorry about the delay, doc."

He gives her a measured smile, and pushes up his glasses. "It's not a problem. I haven't started yet. There was extra paperwork, what with the exhumation and all."

If he notices her flinch, he doesn't mention it. "Of course."

"Did you wish to be a part of the autopsy?"

Her heart pounds a little faster, mouth drying as she tries to speak. "Y-yes." He stands and walks out from behind the desk, and Maka has to crane her neck a little to maintain eye contact. He pauses next to her, and puts one large, cold hand on her shoulder, patting it once.

The autopsy room is through another door in Stein's office, and is, by necessity, freezing. Maka slips back into Soul's hoodie once she closes the door behind her, and tries casually to cover her nose with the overly long sleeve as Stein suits up. He's already got the body laid out, and while time had not been kind to the corpse, the coffin had slowed the rate of decomp fairly significantly. It isn't the first autopsy she's been present for, not by a long-shot, but like everything else related to this case, this is far more personal.

She's only half-listening as Stein's flat voice intones details into the digital recorder. Stab-wounds, immolation-there's enough flesh left for a DNA sample, which Stein goes ahead and pulls, along with samples from around the stab wounds and under the nails. All in all, it doesn't take him that long to finish with the body.

"I'm going to send these off to the lab," he says, taking off his gloves. "I feel like I've done you a disservice, Maka."

"Huh?"

"I signed off on the original autopsy, but I should have done it myself. It was shoddy and half-assed, and I fear that we might have prevented some of this by being more thorough."

She gives him a little smile. "I somehow doubt it. We brought Medusa in, and we couldn't keep her then. She was prepared for us. I think we can catch her off her guard this time."

"Let's hope so. I'll let you know as soon as I get the results from the lab."

"Speaking of the lab-" she digs in her pocket and pulls out the little vial. "I need you to get this analyzed. I need it quick and thorough, and I need it done by someone that you trust implicitly."

"Ohh?" Stein's eyes light up as he carefully takes the little bottle from her. "This little thing, huh?"

"We think it's the new drug that Arachnophobia's pushing out. It could crack this case wide open."

"Well, well. I'll make sure I hand this off to Ox, then. I think he'll be your best bet."

Maka tries to hide her twitch. She remembers Ox Ford from school, and they'd never really gotten along. Still, she couldn't deny that the guy was brilliant and a stickler for justice. "Thanks, Stein. One more thing-do you think that once the vial's analyzed, you could compare the results against the blood work for this guy," she jerks her thumb at the corpse, "...and against Chrona's blood work."

Stein gives her a thoughtful look. "Chrona's fresh blood work?"

"Kid debriefed you?"

"Right around 4 AM, in fact," Stein says dryly. "Speaking of, I have a little something for your partner." He moves back into his office, and Maka trails behind him. "Kid mentioned that, ah-"

"Soul."

"Ah yes, Agent Evans. Got a nasty little cut, didn't he?" He looks just a little  _too_  interested in her partner's injury.

Maka folds her arms across her chest, and gives Stein a look. "Do you have the meds, or not?" If at all possible, she wants to avoid one of Stein's trips into creeper-land.

He looks mildly affronted. "Of course I do. And you're sure that he's got an antibiotic?" She nods and rattles off the name. "Those should do just fine." Stein hands her a bottle. "Now, make sure he eats something with these, and no more than two in a 24 hour period, understood?"

She takes the bottle and rolls her eyes a little. "I've taken Vicodin before, Stein. I'll make sure Soul knows."

"Good. As soon as we're able to get the contents of that vial analyzed, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Stein. Can you make sure I get a copy of both autopsy reports?"

"I'll make sure it happens, Maka."

She gives the grey-haired man a wide smile. "I knew I could count on you."

He smiles, escorting her to the door. "Any time." He holds the door open for her, and she's almost out when Stein pushes up his glasses and gives her a measured look. "Oh, and Maka?"

"Hm?"

"Does your father know?"

Her voice catches in her throat for a moment; she hadn't intended to tell her father anything, lest he freak out like he did last time she got tangled up in Arachnophobia activities. She steels her jaw, and cocks her head slightly, "Does my father know about what?" she hedges.

Stein's grin widens, and Maka's heart plummets into her guts. That smile has never once boded well for her. He gestures to Soul's hoodie, draped over her frame. It takes her a moment to wrap her brain around what he's suggesting, and when she does, she's dismayed to feel her face heating up. She glares at her godfather. "Frank Stein, don't you  _dare-_ -"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Maka. Merely curious."

She gives him one last vicious glare before leaving; Stein merely smiles serenely and waves goodbye.

* * *

Maka tries to be quiet as she unlocks Soul's door. She kind of hopes that he'll be asleep and she won't have to face him, but as she cracks open the door, she can hear his voice, low and a little irritated, from the bedroom.

"I don't wanna leave you hanging, dude. -No, I know I left you hanging yesterday. I said I had something to take care of, didn't I? I'm sorry man. Look, I gotta go, just-remember that favor for me, ok? I owe you."

She shuts the front door with her hip, and puts the small bag of groceries on the countertop before heading towards his room. Maka rests against his doorway and holds up the small brown paper bag of medication for him to see. Soul startles a little, but looks at her gratefully.

"Yeah, call me when you're done. Later." He hangs up and gives her a smile. "You come bearing the good drugs, I hope?"

Maka rolls her eyes. "As if I would come back empty handed. How're you feeling?"

"About the same as when you left-shitty."

"I have Vicodin. Have you been a good boy?" She jiggles the bag again, and bites back a laugh at the way his eyes follow it.

"You know, treating me like some sort of pet is not nearly as cute as you seem to think it is," he mutters. She does laugh this time, as she makes her way over to his bed.

"I dunno. I think it's pretty cute," she teases, checking to make sure he's got water as she shakes out a pill. "Did you eat those Poptarts recently?" He makes a face.

"Ugh, yeah. I think those may have been here when I moved in."

She cringes. "Well, I got you a few things while I was out-hopefully to tide you over for a couple of days."

The look he gives her is unabashedly warm, and she ducks her head to avoid it as she gets his antibiotic. "You didn't have to do that, Maka."

"Er, yeah, I kind of did." She shifts from foot to foot while he downs his pills. "Your fridge is bare and-" she inhales quickly, "-Icouldn'tgetyourbikeoutofimpound."

It takes him a second, and Maka's glad that she waited to share her news until after Soul had swallowed his pills. " _What_?!"

"I can't get your bike out of impound."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Well for one thing, they won't release it to me, and for another, I can't actually drive the damn thing, even if they would."

"I thought you said that Kid would take care of it," he scowls.

"He says there's only so much that can be done until you're well enough to come and claim it for yourself." Soul groans, and she pats his back consolingly. "I did explain that it was very valuable to you, though, and he said he'd try to make sure that it didn't get messed up."

"That's it. As soon as I'm better, I am teaching you to ride."

"The hell you are!"

The look he gives her is sharp toothed and knowing. "Come on, Albarn. You can't tell me you've never wanted to try it-"

"I have never wanted to try it."

"Liar," he teases. "It'll be fun. Don't you want to live a little dangerously?"

Maka snorts, and gives him a glare in an attempt to cover up the way her lips quirk. "I think my life involves enough danger already, thanks."

Soul shrugs a shoulder. "Suit yourself. I didn't think you were one to back down from a challenge, but if you're scared-"

Her eyes narrow. "Oh, that's just playing dirty. Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Evans. I am on to you."

She's not sure why his smirk makes her skin feel hot. "I should hope so."

* * *

He hasn't been this on edge in years-not since he first broke into the ranks of Arachnophobia and left his foster family behind. Black*Star's fingers are in constant motion as he cruises through the Blue district. Soul should be here with him, just like he should have been with him yesterday, making their usual rounds. He still can't get a good explanation out of his friend and partner-in-crime, and  _that_  puts him on edge, too.

He collects from three different businesses with an easy grin and only a few suggestive cracks of his knuckles. Sometimes he wonders why he does this-but the money is easy, and Arachnophobia doesn't care that he has a juvie record a mile long. He thinks about Soul and Kitten-Maka, he remembers Tsubaki calling her, and finds his fingers twitching again. He kind of wants to punch someone, but all the usual suspects who give Soul and him trouble in the Blue district are on their best behavior.

Black*Star's twitching increases, even as he stops off at the nearest Circle D. His brain keeps mulling around Soul and Ki- _Maka_  and that warehouse and what the fuck they were doing out there. He can understand and even forgive being ditched for a hot piece of ass-he is a forgiving god, after all-even if said hot piece of ass has no rack whatsoever. But he can't figure out why Soul would ditch him to go back to the warehouse with a  _waitress_. He doesn't care how hot her ass is, it just doesn't make sense. Even he's not dense enough to think that a warehouse makes for a romantic evening.

He scrubs a hand through his hair roughly, groaning. There is a thought on the horizon, one that he doesn't like one bit-

The slamming of a car door startles him out of his thoughts and nearly makes him drop his King Cone. He scowls and finds himself face to face with a sneering Giriko.

"What's the matter, Black*Star? Weren't expecting to see me here, were you?"

Black*Star raises an eyebrow and takes another bite out of his ice cream. "Uh, no. Not really." Giriko is looking a little more unhinged than normal, which, Black*Star notes, is kind of an impressive feat.

"Of course not. You think Arachnophobia's just going to sit back while you and that little shit of a partner try to fuck us over?"

"Are we seriously back to this, dude? I told you, Eater and I had nothing to do with your shipment getting stolen." He rolls his eyes. "This shit's getting old."

"You're right, it _is_  getting old. Which is why we're going to settle it now. We know all about you and your little boyfriend and your narking problem."

Black*Star straightens, eyes narrowing. "Did you just call me a fuckin' rat? Are you shittin' me? What, did you buy another bad batch of coke or somethin'?"

He sneers at Black*Star. "You can deny it all you want, but Medusa's figured out your little game, asshole, and I get the pleasure of making you pay for it." He cracks his knuckles, and Black*Star tosses what's left of his ice cream cone, rolling his shoulders.

"Seriously, dude, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. The cops showed up right after you left last night. Did you seriously think that wasn't going to be suspicious?"

"After we left...the warehouse?" He shifts from foot to foot and eyes Giriko warily. That horizon-thought is steadily getting closer and clearer, and he's not sure what to do with it.

"Yeah. Not so smart now, are you, fuckhead? Now, where's that little shit you call a partner?"

Black*Star widens his stance subtly. "He's out sick," he sneers, fists clenching, loosening the muscles in his shoulders and arms.

"Oh well. I'll get his punk ass later," Giriko shrugs, and then he's in motion. Black*Star's ready for him, though-he's been waiting for this since Giriko first started talking. He doesn't think about the mobster's words; there is only the fading afternoon sun, and the feel of the fight.

His heart races as he dodges the wicked looking knife Giriko pulls, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He's never liked Giriko, and he can't say that he's upset by the opportunity to beat his ass. Giriko swings wide, and Black*Star ducks in, cracking him across the face. "You know, I told you if you came after my minion or me again, I was gonna fuck you up."

"You can fucking try."

"I intend to." Black*Star knows that he's arrogant, but he also knows he has the skills to back up all his talk. Giriko is a joke, as far he's concerned. They circle around each other, and Black*Star doesn't bother to keep the smirk off his face. Giriko darts in, faster than he anticipated, and Black*Star barely dodges this time, knife whistling perilously close to his face.

He responds with two quick jabs to the body, which don't slow Giriko down quite as much as Black*Star would like. Out of the corner of his eye, Black*Star can tell that they're beginning to draw a crowd, though a quite circumspect one, hidden behind storefronts and surreptitious glances at cell phones. Black*Star kicks out with a booted foot, intent on snapping a kneecap, but Giriko darts back and to the side, trying to swing around for another slice.

This time, he manages to grab a fistful of Black*Star's shirt, and Black*Star twists just enough, the collar of his shirt digging into his throat-that Giriko's knife slides against the skin of his ribs instead of into them. He grunts, fist flying into Giriko's face. The other man ducks his head to avoid the worst of the blow, grip still strong. Black*Star growls and brings up a knee, hitting Giriko square in the stomach. He blanches and loosens his grip, and Black*Star dances back, just out of reach.

"You got anything else for me, dipshit? The great Black*Star doesn't have time for your games."

"I got something else for you, motherfucker." Giriko straightens and pulls his gun out.

 _Shit_. He squeezes off two rounds rapid fire, and Black*Star flinches, feeling the burning sting of a bullet graze his arm. He dives for his SUV in time to hear another bullet  _ping_  into painted steel. His blood boils, but he's got no back up and Giriko is well past fucking around. Black*Star doesn't waste time getting in and getting his baby started.

Retreating stings, but hey, he decides-it's only really retreating if he goes backwards. Black*Star revs the engine, blares his horn, ducks his head, and slams the gas, aiming towards Giriko and his car. There's a muffled, " _Fucking shit_!" and the crunching squeal of metal hitting metal, and he's away.

He's never been one for introspection, but once he's clear and the adrenaline rush begins to fade, Black*Star recognizes that he's got a lot of thinking to do regarding his continuing position within Arachnophobia. He's got two grazing wounds from a guy that he's supposed to see as a superior-as far as he's concerned, Giriko's barely even a man, much less a boss.

Arachnophobia was never supposed to be a permanent solution. Black*Star knew that when he turned 18 and left Sid's care, but it was easy to fall back into a lifetime of bad habits and quick money. His stereo pounds steadily, and he feels it in his bones. He thinks of a woman with long dark hair and a soft smile just for him.

He thinks of the night before-of Soul and  _Maka_  and the contained worry on Mira's face and her words-and picks up his cellphone.

* * *

Soul doesn't want to admit it, but he doesn't want her to leave. She's actually kind of...puttering around his apartment, and it's entertaining to watch her from his spot in the bedroom. It would be more entertaining if he didn't know that her restlessness was a result of her anxiety bubbling up. He wishes he could give her an outlet for all her nervous energy, but he's effectively stuck where he is. If he so much as leaves the bed for anything other than a piss break, she'll be all over him.

And not in the good way. Soul groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"Makaaa," he finally calls out.

Her response is immediate, head up like a shot. "Is everything ok?"

Everything is more than ok now that the Vicodin has kicked in, he thinks, but he's pretty sure he manages to keep that thought on the inside. "It's fine except for that part where you're making me dizzy and wearing a hole in my floor."

She stops her pacing suddenly, and he almost laughs at the guilty look she shoots him. _Almost_. "Sorry," she mutters, and he snorts just a little.

"C'mere." He motions, and, a little reluctantly, she moves forward towards his room, pausing in the doorframe. "You're making  _me_  nervous," he says, and she squirms a little.

"I'm sorry. I'm just-" words fail her for a moment. How does she express the nervous energy coursing through her? "It feels like we're on the edge of something big, Soul. Like we're almost there."

He sighs softly, lips quirking. "I know that feeling. If you'd let me out of bed, I'd be pacing with you. Maybe we could go for a jog?" She raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to let me out of bed, are you?"

"Not on your life, pal."

Soul groans, but doesn't argue. He's bored, but not enough that he's going to push his luck with his partner. Besides, she'll have to leave soon enough, and she won't be able to stop him them. She narrows her eyes and then turns on her heel with a smile. Soul furrows his brow. Maka's smiles rarely bode well for his sanity. She returns moments later, and he knows he was right. "Aw, man."

"You did say you were going to take a look at the footage."

"I'm injured."

"Just means you can't go anywhere. What better time?"

"I'm drugged. Delirious, even."

She gives him a look. "Why are you fighting this?" He holds his hands out, and Maka gives him the chunky government issued laptop.

"Cause it means you aren't pacing around my living room anymore waiting to go into Chupa Cabra's." Her mouth drops open, astonished, and he grins, slow and wide at her expression. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You-"

He opens the shell and begins the booting process. "Me," he agrees. She sighs, exasperated, but he sees the hint of a smile out of the corner of his eye.

"I should head out," she says.

"Probably," he agrees to the sound of the Windows start noise. "Maka-" She cocks her head slightly, and he focuses on logging in. "Just be extra careful out there. The closer we get, the more dangerous it is for all of us."

Part of her wants to protest that she  _knows_  and she'll be careful and doesn't he trust her, but he's not being condescending, and he's barely even looking at her-just a warning from one partner to another. She stamps out the reflex.

"I will."

"Good." He shifts a little. "Ah, look-I also called Black*Star."

That stops her. "What? Why?"

"You need someone to watch your back while I'm stuck here."

Maka feels her temper flare up again. This time, she doesn't bother reigning it in. "Ex _cuse_  me?"

"It's just while I'm laid up."

"Soul, I don't need a fucking  _mobster_  watching my back. We're taking enough risks as it is, don't you think? Who the hell knows what he's going to do after last night!"

"He's not going to do anything other than watch your back, Maka!" He sits a little higher, fists clenching in the sheets. "I thought you agreed that things were going to be getting more dangerous."

"Of course they are, but I can look after myself!"

"Are you forgetting Medusa's little pet Giriko and how he wants to rip you into pieces? Cause I'm not." He couldn't forget Giriko's threats even if he tried.

She refrains from stamping her foot, but only barely. "Dammit Soul, of course I haven't! I'm a fucking _cop_. I know the risks. I  _always_  know the risks. There is always going to be some asshole out there like Giriko who thinks that he can intimidate me, and it's not going to happen!"

"Dammit, Maka, I _know_  you can take care of yourself. This isn't about your capability as a cop or a woman, or whatever-"

"It sure sounds that way." Her hands are braced on her hips, nostrils flaring. Soul tugs a hand through his hair roughly, growling in frustration.

"This is because  _I'm_  your partner, and I  _can't_  have your back, dammit. You know what it's like to lose a partner, Maka. I don't want that-not when I can do something to prevent it."

Maka recoils as though Soul had physically struck her, and for a long, very quiet moment, Soul wishes he could take it back. "That's not fair, Evans." She breaks the silence first, voice soft and glass hard all at once.

"No," he agrees just as quietly. "It isn't."

"And Black*Star-you trust?"

"He's had my back since he took me into Arachnophobia. He's loyal to his own."

"And me?"

He hesitates, but at her look, he swallows. "You're mine." He watches her face flush and braces himself for the backlash. When it doesn't come immediately, he continues, "You're...Tsubaki's too, and I've never seen him like this about a girl before." He watches her shoulders slump, and wishes he'd just kept his big mouth shut.

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Yeah. But I swear to god, if he even looks like he's going to rat me out-"

"He won't."

She nods once. "I have to go in now."

"Y-yeah, alright." Soul reaches over and gives her a light punch on the leg closest to his bed. Maka laughs roughly and carefully slugs him in the arm. "See you later?"

"Yeah, I'll drop by tonight when I'm done."

He watches her go, laptop forgotten for the moment. "Hey, Maka?"

"Yeah?" She pauses at the door.

"What if I hadn't told you?"

The look she sends him tells him everything he needs to know, and when she shuts and locks the front door silently, he slumps back into his pillows.

* * *

Free opens the door for her with a strained smile that evening, and it puts an already tense Maka even further on edge. Before she can get all the way into the club, he's got one enormous hand lightly grabbing her elbow, and she stops immediately, heart pounding in her chest. She keeps her smile light and vapid as she looks back and up at the bouncer.

"Miss Blair wants to see you as soon as you change out," he rumbles, and gives her a little smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better." She suspects it's supposed to be reassuring. It isn't.

"T-thanks, sugar!" she manages, turning up the wattage on her smile and hoping it's appropriately distracting. He grins goofily and gives her arm a friendly pat.

At this rate, she's pretty sure she's going to start giving herself ulcers.

The dressing room is dead when she gets there, and Maka changes into her "uniform" quickly, trying not to dwell on what Blair could possibly want. As paranoid as she is, she doubts that her cover's been blown-if it had, Maka's pretty sure she would have known the minute she stepped through the door. With a sigh, she tugs up her thigh highs and straps on her ridiculous heels.

Her heels click forcefully against the polished marble of the hall, the noise loud and strangely reassuring. It feels a lot like her first trip-she doesn't want to admit nervousness, but so much has happened in the last day, she can't help it. At least this time she doesn't have to worry about getting lost in the maze of hallways. Maka keeps her breathing steady and knocks on Blair's door.

"Is that you, Kitten? Come on in."

She slips in the door and closes it behind her. "You wanted to see me, boss?"

Blair looks up from the papers on her desk, and Maka immediately notices the dark circles under the woman's eyes. She's clearly tried to cover them with makeup, but Maka can tell that Blair is tired and stressed-even more so than the last time she'd seen her. "I did, Kitten." She smiles, but it lacks her usual sparkle. "I've got good news and bad news. Bad news is that we're going to be short a dancer indefinitely, and I'm not _allowed_  to hire a new one," she says it with a barely concealed sneer.

"And the good news?" Maka asks. She doesn't see how anything good can come of this-she knows it must be because of Cherry's hospitalization, and she doesn't doubt for one second that Medusa is holding Blair's purse strings. She worries that Liz and Pattie and the other girls are going to have to work overtime to make up for Cherry's absence. She doesn't expect the next words out of Blair's mouth.

"You've been promoted, Kitten!"

* * *

The rest of her shift passes in a blur; Maka is still reeling from Blair's proclamation, and she stumbles through drink orders and grabby handed patrons. She keeps an eye out for Giriko, mindful his threats and Soul's paranoia, but doesn't see any sign of him. Ultimately, she's glad. She hates the unsettled feeling that Giriko leaves her with, but she's not sure that she can deal with him right now without things getting very messy, very fast.

She's overwhelmingly relieved when it's quitting time, waving off the look of concern from the bartender. She changes out quickly. The Thompson sisters have had the whole night off, and as a result, the dressing room feels more subdued. There's still the end-of-night chatter that she's grown used to, but she feels disconnected from it.

"Hey Kitten, congrats on the upgrade!" Roxy gives her a smack on the ass and a little grin. Maka startles, but dredges up a grin and slaps back.

"Thanks."

"What's the matter? You don't look too happy about it," Ginger pipes up. She brushes her hair back into a ponytail and keeps an eye on Maka in her mirror. Maka shrugs a shoulder as she slips off her tie.

"It's just unexpected, is all. I didn't think Blair would make  _me_  a dancer. She told me I wasn't the type when she hired me." She says it all with a wry smile, and the other girls chuckle.

"You've got tits? You're the type," Ginger says.

"Barely," Maka mutters, unbuttoning her blouse. Roxy gives her a small pat on the shoulder.

"You'll do fine. Don't worry about it so much. You know how easy our clients are to please."

"Speaking of easy to please-I feel like I oughta give you a high five or something. I can't believe you hooked  _Eater_." Ginger only looks a little bitter as she pulls on her shirt. "I've been trying to land that one since he came here."

"What?"

"He's like the great white whale of patrons, sweetie. Loves to look but doesn't exactly, aaaahh, seal the deal very often, you know?"

Roxy snorts. "I would think she'd know better than anyone," she nudges Maka. "So just how great is the white whale?"

She can't help the smirk. Oh, she's going to have a field day telling Soul about this later. She shrugs modestly. "He's a _beast_." The other girl burst into laughter.

"I bet," Roxy grins. "I saw that hickey you got the other night-"

"I think  _everyone_  saw the hickey she got the other night."

Maka can feel her face heating up. "Yeah, well, it's those  _teeth_." She jams her foot in her other boot and laces it up. "Speaking of which-I've got a date." She makes her escape from the dressing room to raucous catcalls, and is surprised to discover that she feels a little more relaxed and less stressed. Right up until she steps out the back door and into the alley. She slows her steps, eyeballing the huge SUV that blocks her only exit.

The window crawls down, and she's presented with a familiar shock of blue hair. "Get the fuck in, Waitress. I'm giving you a ride home." Part of her wants to resist, but she recalls clearly the argument she and Soul had earlier. She climbs into the passenger seat of the Black*Star Mobile and tries not to look too disgruntled.

Riding with Black*Star is exactly how she imagined that it might be, and yet nothing like it at all. He never uses more than one hand, unless it's to flick off another passing vehicle, and he listens to the most obnoxious music. It's strangely at odds with the way he never goes more than 10 over the speed limit and the fact that he bothered with a seatbelt. And aside from the music, he's quiet.

It's weird, and she doesn't like it.

The ride to Soul's apartment is short, but awkward, and she's more than ready to escape.

"Thanks for the ride, Black*Star, I really appreciate it." She's just about to bolt out the door when Black*Star reaches over and grabs her wrist. His grip is firm, but light, and she still under his touch, waiting for his next move.

"I brought you back cause Soul's my minion, and he might have asked me to. But I want some answers before I let you go back up there, ok?" His tone is serious in a way that she's not heard before, not even last night while Soul was injured.

She rolls one shoulder. "Shoot," she says, voice light. In the dim light of the car's interior, her eyes pick out the rip of fabric along his arm and side.

"Who are you?"

She exhales slowly. "Maka," she says. "Kitten is just my stage name."

"And how long have you and Tsubaki known each other?"

"Ahh, a long time now. She's one of my oldest friends."

"Is she in any danger because of what you do?"

This stops Maka cold. Of all the questions she had anticipated answering, this wasn't one. "What do you mean?" she asks carefully.

"I mean that you're not really a waitress, are you?"

Her heart pounds. She wants to run because she's been made by Black*Star, of all people. Instead, she deflects. "Who gave you those?" she asks, nodding towards the rips in his clothing.

Black*Star looks down and wiggles a finger through the hole in his shirt. "Courtesy of our little friend Giriko earlier."

"Are you all right?"

"Pft. Like Giriko's got anything on me."

"Why'd he go after you?" Her palms are sweating as she asks.

"See, that's the funny thing. I thought it was just because Giriko can't let a fucking thing go. But he kept running his mouth, and said some pretty interesting things."

"Oh?" She's casual. Completely and totally casual.

"For some reason, he thought that Eater and I were rats. Seemed real insistent on the idea that we had called the cops last night."

Soul's words trickle through her brain and she feels like she's walking the knife's edge. What she's about to do is certifiable and goes against everything she's ever known about undercover work. But hell, she's never been all that good at following the rules before. Why start now?

She breathes in, out, and hopes that Soul's faith wasn't misplaced. "Soul said you're loyal to your own."

Black*Star stops fidgeting, and they exchange looks for a long, quiet moment. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, and just when she thinks that she's truly and completely blown it, Black*Star gives her a little half-nod. "I'm loyal only to myself. And to my minions."

"And Soul's a minion?" He nods. Maka swallows. "And Arachnophobia?"

"They sent Giriko after me. What the fuck do _you_  think?" He stretches out in the driver's seat a little. " _Tch_. I mean, really. They wanna get rid of the great Black*Star and they're going to send one pathetic fucker like Giriko to do the job? That's just insulting." Maka smiles faintly. "Now, I've been more than generous. You wanna answer my question?"

"I don't know," she answers truthfully. "It's always a possibility. Do I think she's in danger now? No. At the least, she's not in anymore danger from being my roommate than she is from dating you." She thinks that she might be imagining Black*Star's faint wince.

"Yeah, all right. Point made."

"So..." She tries not to let herself hope. She may have just screwed up everything, or she may have gained them an ally.

"So _what_?" Black*Star shrugs. "You're my minions, yeah? Then you're under my protection, obviously. If I'm not going to let Arachnophobia fuck with me, why do they get to fuck with you?"

She can feel the tightness in her chest loosen up. "Alright. Are we good?"

"We're good."

Maka nods and stretches out her hand; Black*Star grips it firmly. "Detective Maka Albarn, DCPD."


	14. Felonious Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get this party started.

Chapter 14- Felonious Behavior

* * *

Maka doesn't slam out of his apartment, and they're not exactly fighting, but he still feels like the world's biggest ass. If Black*Star were there, he'd make a wisecrack about how Soul mostly just  _had_  the world's biggest ass, and that's about when Soul realizes that perhaps the pain medication really  _is_ kicking in full force. The physical pain in his chest has subsided into mostly a dull ache, and he would really prefer to go back to sleep and not dwell on the exchange he just had with his partner.

Instead, he turns to his laptop, government approved boring background glaring irritating at him. He doesn't really  _want_  to go through the surveillance footage; that kind of grunt work, along with writing reports, is probably his least favorite part of being an FBI agent. But he doesn't have the benefit of an office here, or even a support team, so he pulls up the footage and settles in for the long haul.

He drifts off a little here and there, and grumbles when he jerks awake because it means rewinding back through footage lest he miss something. The third time it happens, he nearly throws the laptop across the room. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths, and sets the computer aside. His chest seems to be holding up alright, and his Vicodin hasn't worn off, so he swings his legs out of bed and gingerly gets to his feet. With a small glare, he grabs the laptop again, shoves his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, and shuffles carefully into the living room.

Maka will kill him if she finds out he got out of bed. At the same time, it's probably worth it if it means he isn't going to fall asleep every five minutes going through this footage. He deposits his burden with a muffled  _thump_  on the couch and trudges into the kitchen to make a little bit of coffee and to see if he can rustle up a snack out of whatever it was that Maka brought back from the store. He's going to have to start all over again to make sure he hasn't missed anything.

Three hours later, and despite the two cups of coffee and having consumed most of the baguette Maka'd bought, he's on the verge of passing out again. He catches a flash on the screen, and he fumbles for the touchpad to stop the playback and rewind a bit. It's the third time Giriko's turned up on the camera, and the second time he's shown up with Cherry. The first time had Soul cringing, but hadn't yielded anything. This time, Soul can already see the violence lurking in Giriko's eyes before Cherry even shows up, and he feels his stomach recoil.

The surveillance camera is of a high enough quality that he can really see more than he ever wanted to, and while that will certainly help when it comes to court evidence, at the moment it just imprints the look of fear on Cherry's face, and the way that her arms begin to mottle with the strength of Giriko's grip, into Soul's brain. He wants nothing more than to stop the video. Technically, he's got what he needs. Still, he forces himself to watch the whole thing. There's too much at stake if he misses something. He does his best to detach himself from what he sees-to retreat into the analytical part of his brain where this is just evidence, and he is just an agent doing his job. It doesn't work.

The worst is the audio. He can clearly hear Giriko's low, vicious demands, hear every slur and curse he slings at Cherry. There is no mistaking her choked off sobs for anything else. Soul thinks that he might actually be sick as Giriko tires of Cherry and throws her to the ground with a self-satisfied smirk. She doesn't dare move until he swaggers his way out of the private room, and then Soul watches as she curls into herself, still crying. Blair eventually comes in and helps the battered woman to her feet, but not after nearly ten more minutes of broken tears.

Soul stops the playback there, and for a long moment, he just sits and stares up at the ceiling. He has the proof that they had been searching for, but it doesn't feel anything like victory ought to.

He isn't entirely sure how long he sits there and stares. The ceiling doesn't provide him all that much in the way of comfort or oblivion, but it does, unfortunately, let his mind wander, and soon he finds himself turning the video back on. He tells himself that it's all in the name of work-that he's got to compile as much damning evidence against Giriko and Medusa as he can, but despite the truth of it, it tastes like an excuse. He's looking for one moment in days' worth of moments.

He fast forwards through a few lap dances between dancers he recognizes and patrons he knows by sight alone until that leering face pops back up on his laptop screen. Soul can feel his shoulders begin to tense and his jaw tightens. He knows, effectively, what's going to happen here. Or at least, he knows how this particular interaction ends, but he doesn't know the in between. In a Pandora's Box moment of bad decisions, he stops the fast forward and presses play, watching as the door to the VIP room opens and Giriko's oily smile widens.

It almost doesn't feel real, watching Maka this way. Between what he knows now, and what he knew then, and the impersonal observation of the camera, he is having a difficult time reconciling this shy, mousy school-girl act with the woman he's come to know as his partner. He strongly suspects, eyes tracing her coquettish movements, that if she hadn't taken an instant dislike to him-hadn't given him those brief moments that hinted at her true nature-he might never have suspected her of being anything but the waitress she portrayed.

He watches as Giriko slides his hands along her bared skin, and he's distantly aware of the way his blood pressure rises as he paws at Maka. She dances away from him with a slow shimmy, and Soul's eyes catch her stuttering fingers on the buttons on her blouse a moment before Giriko tears the thing off her completely. Dimly, Soul feels his nails bite into his palms, but he keeps watching as she shakily drops her skirt and Giriko's hands are back.

He's never been so happy to see himself in his life. He knows that Maka's scared face and intimidated noises are a part of her act, he  _knows_  that she can take care of herself, but it stirs something angry in his chest, something possessive and unexpected. He watches for a few more minutes, reliving their interaction as he sees it played out on the screen, and tries to calm down. This is his partner, after all. It's not unreasonable for him to be upset when someone so blatantly disrespects his  _partner_ , especially when that someone is a Grade A shitbag. That unsettled feeling sticks with him, and he almost regrets watching this part of the tape. It's all too easy to imagine Maka in Cherry's position, and the thought makes him nauseous.

Soul manages to make it through the rest of the video without breaking anything. Unfortunately, it doesn't yield anything else that they're going to be able to use. He hopes, not for the first time, that what they've got here and Cherry's testimony are going to be enough to keep Giriko locked up for a good long while. He can feel his eyelids start to droop again, and as much as he has on his mind, he can't quite fight of the potent combo of exhaustion and medication.

* * *

Maka unlocks the door to his apartment to find him snoring lightly on the couch. He doesn't even wake up when she closes the door none too gently. She takes a moment to stare at him, her nerves still a little shot from her conversation with Black*Star. She wants to be irritated that he disobeyed her strict orders to stay in bed, but he looks surprisingly peaceful.

She can smell the lingering scent of coffee from the kitchenette, and there's the last tiny end of the bread she bought earlier in the day sitting on the coffee table. Maka rolls her eyes and retrieves his laptop from where it rests precariously on his hips. She jostles the touchpad accidentally, and the machine whirs back to life. Maka sees the video file pulled up, and notices that Soul has pulled out her casebook, and made careful notations about the surveillance footage. It's even, she notes, done in a careful mimicry of her own style.

She closes and sets the laptop aside, and takes one last look at her partner. She needs to talk to him about tonight, but she's pretty sure that's drool hanging from the side of his mouth, and she can see the bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt. It can wait, she decides suddenly.

Maka nudges his shoulder carefully, and rolls her eyes as he twitches away from her, but doesn't wake up.

"Soul." She shakes him a little harder to no avail. She leans in a little closer, smiling mischievously, mouth next to his ear, "Evans!" His eyes snap open at that, and he might have thrashed his way off the futon entirely, had Maka not still had one hand firmly planted on his shoulder.

"Maka-wha-"

"You fell asleep on the couch," she smirks.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "And you needed to wake me up, why?"

"Didn't want you to wake up with a cramp in your neck." Her voice is sweet as she holds out a hand to help him sit up. He glares half-heartedly at her, but takes it anyway.

"Yes, and I'm sure the minor heart attack you just gave me is much better for my well-being."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, partner."

"You are cruel and unusual," he grumbles, heart calming; he doesn't resist as she pulls him towards the bedroom.

"Some of my better qualities," she agrees. She can see his eyes start to droop again, and she steers him to the edge of his bed. He flops onto the mattress, and she gets no further arguments as she pulls the sheets up over him. "Go back to sleep, Soul." It doesn't take long for his breathing to even out, and for his faint snores to start up again.

Shaking her head, she makes her way back into the living room. She gets herself a few pieces of cheese to eat with the last of the bread Soul massacred earlier, and sits down to review the notes he'd made for her. She's got more than a few things to add herself.

* * *

She wakes up Tuesday around noon on Soul's futon-couch again, and it's surreal to think that, in the week since she'd given him half a lapdance and gained a new partner, that she's spent nearly half her nights sleeping in a bed that isn't her own. The smell of coffee pervades her nose, and she's equal parts grateful and irritated because it means that Soul's been up and about.

She finds him on the edge of his bed, partially reclined and barely dressed. She fights down the urge to blush, instead crossing her arms and scowling. His eyes flicker open, and for a brief moment, he has the grace to look ashamed.

"I wanted to take a shower," he mumbles, eyes landing somewhere around her collarbone. "And then I couldn't get the bandages back on right."

She sighs. "I ought to let you just suffer, you know."

"Probably," he agrees. "But maybe after you wrap my gaping wound?"

Her scowl deepens. The stitches look angry and red, and as much as she blusters and picks at him, she still feels more than a little responsible for his injury. "Come here," she demands, and he stands, handing her the dressings from his nightstand. She's quick and efficient, hands moving nimbly around his torso. They're close by necessity, and, much like the other night, Maka deftly avoids meeting Soul's eyes. She can smell his soap, and his skin is still a little warm from his shower. If her pulse is pounding a little faster than normal, she thinks it's pretty reasonable to blame it on her irritation with Soul.

"Have you taken your antibiotics yet?"

" _Yes_." She risks a moment of eye contact for a particularly potent glare. "And the Vicodin," he adds mulishly.

"Good." She secures his bandages, smoothing them down carefully. Under her fingertips, Soul tenses slightly, and for a moment, she regrets shifting her gaze because her eyes are filled with the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Now get back in that bed."

She can't quite decipher the look he gives her as he obeys, but it's not helping her pulse rate any.

Maka manages breakfast for the both of them, and with Maka perched on the edge of the bed, they compare notes from yesterday. She doesn't mention the fact that he's written in her casebook, or that she's kind of weirdly touched by the fact that he made an effort to stick with her system, and he doesn't either.

Through bites of toast, he glosses over the surveillance footage and Cherry's assault, and if he doesn't mention that he kept watching for her interaction with Giriko, well, he's still trying not to think about it too hard. She seems subdued, and he thinks that it's probably due to the violent nature of the evidence, until she clears her throat and mumbles,

"I took your advice."

He stops chewing. "Hm? About what?"

"Trusting Black*Star." She fidgets a little bit. "He gave me a ride back last night, and we had a talk."

"See, I told you we could trust him."

"Well, I hope you're right cause I took a chance and told him who I was." It's quiet enough that she can hear the blood in her veins. Her eyes don't leave Soul's as he gapes at her.

"You did  _what_?"

"You heard me."

" _Why_? What on Earth would possess you to do something like that?"

"You said you trusted him, right?"

"Well yeah-enough to keep Giriko out of your way at least, but not enough to blow our cover!"

"Well too bad," she says with a nonchalance she doesn't feel. "Besides, I didn't blow your cover, just mine."

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "How-"

"I think he had it half-figured out anyway. Giriko confronted him-seemed to think that it was the two of your at the warehouse and not the two of  _us_."

"That's...kind of good."

Her lips quirk. "Yeah. He's under the impression that you and Black*Star are snitches. And he tried to get rid of you both in a more permanent fashion yesterday. Fortunately for you, you weren't there."

"And Black*Star?"

"Giriko didn't do any serious damage. Other than apparently give him some food for thought."

Soul relaxes marginally. "Good. Now, are you trying to say I couldn't take Giriko, because if that's what you're saying then I think we need to reevaluate our partnership."

Maka rolls her eyes. "Not with  _that_ , you couldn't." He rubs his bandages lightly and grimaces.

"Yeah, well."

"I'm sure you'll get your shot at him, FBI guy."

"As much as I'd like to break his face, I hope I don't get the chance. You're going to send Kid that information, right?"

"Yeah. I'll get it to him ASAP. In the meantime, it looks like we have a new ally." Maka fidgets a little. "If you want, we can keep your cover going-"

"We're in this together, yeah? I'll talk to him about it later."

"You sure?"

He shrugs a shoulder slightly. "Yeah."

She gives him a small smile, "I need to spend some time at my place today-are you going to be all right here by yourself?"

"I  _think_  I can manage," he says drily.

Maka stands and motions for Soul to give her his empty plate. "Well that's good. I've got errands to run and a new job to start prepping for."

"New- _what_?"

She can't help but tease him, just a little, especially since his face is all scrunched up in confusion. Consider it, she thinks, payback for all those times he manages to get her off her guard. "Mm, yeah. Did I forget to mention? Blair promoted me yesterday."

She grins and lets that sink in as she takes their dishes into the kitchen.

* * *

The good news is that she doesn't have to start her "new job" for another week. She managed to finagle  _that_  much out of Blair at least. In the back of her mind, she crosses her fingers that they can wrap this case up before that ever becomes necessary. A girl can dream at least.

She's got a tray full of martinis for a table full of particularly rough looking guys and she's cataloging the various half-healed cuts and bruises they're sporting out of habit when she hears a shout from across the club. She jerks, and sets down the tray carefully before looking towards the source of the noise. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the table full of goons tense, but her attention primarily focused on the drama unfurling before her.

Maka didn't know that the doors of Chupa Cabra's  _could_  slam, but Giriko somehow manages the feat. Even across the room, she can see his eyes are wild, and he looks fit to kill as he searches the club. She freezes as they lock gazes and watches, fascinated and horrified as his face shifts into a snarl. She estimates she has maybe 30 seconds before he's coming for her, and she thinks with startling clarity,  _This is it_.

If she can slip away, into the back rooms, she might be able to dodge him and get out of the club. If her cover is well and truly blown, she could go ahead and finish this now with Giriko-but she doesn't dare do it in a room full of people who are Giriko's allies. She'll run, and he'll chase because he can't _not_ , she decides, and she tenses, ready to explode away from the table the moment he starts in her direction.

Except she never gets the chance. Before Giriko can move, he's being restrained by two uniforms. Maka recognizes one of them by the greying blond of his hair-the other one is an unknown. But she's more than familiar with the set of her boss's shoulders as he arrives on the scene. She hangs back and takes her cue from the other patrons-all of whom are doing their level best to look like they aren't actively avoiding the cops. Even restrained, Giriko spits and thrashes, his eyes once again finding Maka's.

"You think this is gonna take, huh? I don't know what you assholes think you're doing, but you can't keep me-do you know who I am?"

"Giriko 'the Chainsaw' Sharp, you are under arrest for the assault and battery of one Kim Diehl. You have the right to remain silent-" She could almost laugh at Kid's cool intonation and Giriko's startled look, except he's still looking right at her, like he  _knows_  somehow. The click of the handcuffs is audible in the quiet of the club.

"I'll fucking show you my right to an attorney. You just fucking wait. I know who's behind this, and they're gonna regret it."

She can hear his screeching proclamation clear as day, and it's like a nail in her chest because he's speaking right to  _her_. It's ridiculous, but she can't help the shiver that look sends up her spine. They have to practically drag Giriko out of the club. She would have thought that, knowing Kid had the maniac under control, she would feel better, but she doesn't. Instead, it feels like they've just taken this game to a whole new level.

Black*Star is waiting for her when she gets off work again, and she scowls a little.

"I really don't need the bodyguard detail," she insists, climbing into the front seat. Black*Star shrugs a shoulder partway.

"That's not what Eater said."

"He's overprotective," she mutters stubbornly. "They picked up Giriko tonight anyway. Speaking of," she turns and gives him a good, hard stare. "If you're supposed to be looking after me, where the hell were you tonight? I thought Giriko was coming straight for me when he burst into Chupa Cabra's tonight."

Black*Star doesn't even have the grace to look ashamed. Instead, she thinks she sees the hint of a smirk around his mouth. "I know. I saw the whole thing from outside."

Her mouth gapes a little, and he laughs, loud and honking. "Well that would have been nice to know."

"What? Like I'm going to march into Arachnophobia central when there's a hit on me and Giriko's the one out for it? I ain't afraid of him, but that motherfucker's  _crazy_."

"And now that Giriko's out of the way?"

He shrugs again. "I'm gonna be keeping my eyes and ears open, ya'know? Mostly for you guys. I know they're gonna be after Soul once he shows his face again, and you by extension." He doesn't mention Tsubaki, but he doesn't have to. It's in the set of his jaw and the fact that Maka knows he hasn't spoken to her roommate since they had dropped him off Sunday night.

She makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "Tsubaki should be all right," she says finally, and Black*Star glances over at her, surprised. "Her connection to me is minimal, especially given how much time I've been spending at Soul's apartment."

He snorts a little. "Man, you really are a cop, aren't you?"

"What's  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! 'Sides, just cause you haven't been seen together with her much doesn't mean they haven't seen me with her lately. I'm not making her a target."

Maka bristles a little at the implication that she  _is_  making her best friend a target, but settles on, "She's going to kick your ass, you know."

Black*Star does smile this time, big and wide, "Yeah, I know." He seems pretty pleased by the prospect.

"God, at least  _call_  her."

He rolls his eyes. "Stay out of it, short stack. It's between Tsubaki and me, ok?"

She gives him a disgusted look. "You really are going to get your ass kicked. Do me a favor and drop me off at home. I need to go to Soul's tonight, but I need to grab some stuff first." He grunts and gives her a suspicious look. "What? Look, if you're that worried, you can just drop me off at Soul's and I'll walk home. Might be a little less conspicuous than this  _thing_."

"Oh, I know you did  _not_  just insult the Black*Star Mobile."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she says, voice Sahara dry.

"Hmph. That's what I thought." A few minutes later, he pulls over and parks along the side of the street, and Maka gives him a look. She recognizes the spot as just about halfway between her apartment and Soul's. "Soul will be upset if I let his partner go wandering around by herself after all this trouble. And I am nothing if not an accommodating god."

She lets it slide because, as she's coming to realize, that's just Black*Star. He's also answered a question that she didn't particularly want to ask, which was whether or not Soul had keyed Black*Star into his real identity. The (former) mobster seems completely un-phased by the whole ordeal, and she envies him. Ultimately, she suspects he's convinced himself that on some level he already knew his... _minions_...were working for the man.

They walk back to her apartment reasonably quickly, and when it looks like he's going to lurk on the sidewalk like a total creeper, she invites him in. He glares a little.

"What did I tell you about not butting in?"

"Look, you're going to draw way more attention to us by  _lurking_  out here than if you just come in the damn building," she hisses. He grumbles but follows her in, and upstairs, and a part of her can't believe that she's actively showing Black*Star where they live, when just a few days ago she was appalled by the notion. Maka's a little surprised to find that they've actually beaten Tsubaki back, but she's more used to walking back than hitching a ride, so that figures. "Just uhh...stay in the kitchen until I get back," she says. "If you want a snack or something, I think there's some chips in the cabinet next to the fridge."

"Yeah, yeah." He waves a hand at her and she can see him zeroing in on said cabinet as she disappears into her room to grab a change of clothes.

She throws her dirty clothes into her hamper and stuffs some clean ones in there without much thought-jeans and another t-shirt will be more than adequate. She pauses for a moment at her drawer and considers throwing in a few more changes of clothes. Just in case. She hesitates over her underwear, then hears the sound of the front door opening and hastily throws in a few more pairs and a couple of extra shirts and socks. It can't hurt, she tells herself, and does not at all dwell on what it might mean that she's keeping extra clothes at her partners' place. It is, after all,  _practical_.

She takes a quick peek out of her room to see Tsubaki in the doorway of their apartment, looking flabbergasted at the sight of Black*Star, who's got a mouthful of ridged potato chips and is looking equally startled. She'd laugh, but as funny as it is, she'd rather not break the moment. Maka ducks back into her room and gives them a few moments where she absolutely does not eavesdrop. She'll give them ten minutes, she decides, and pops out her phone.

_Coming over in ten. Ok if I stay?_

_alwauys ok~_  His response comes almost immediately, and Maka can imagine him laying in bed with his phone next to him. Judging from his typing, he's at least still taking his Vicodin. She smiles a little.

_Go sleep, dummy. I'll let myself in._

_Mfjine._

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't stop smiling. As obnoxious as it can be, she kind of appreciates his stubbornness Maka checks the time again. She can still hear the murmur of voices, and she's kind of impressed that Black*Star is managing to keep it to a dull roar. She sucks in a breath and and steels herself for going out into the living room.

"Hey, Tsubaki," she says as she emerges.

"Hi Maka." Her roommate's reply is more than a little distracted, and she's not sure if that's a good thing or not. At least Tsubaki isn't glaring needles at her for letting Black*Star into their apartment. That has to mean something positive, doesn't it?

Black*Star is almost completely focused on Tsubaki, and Maka thinks for a moment that she might be able to just slip out the front door and avoid having another round of bodyguard time with Black*Star. Her hopes are dashed when Tsubaki cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow. "You're going out again?" she asks, nodding at Maka's bag.

"Ah, yeah. Figure it can't hurt to keep an eye on Soul for a little while longer. I'll be back tomorrow though to ahh-"

"Get the help with the  _thing_?" Tsubaki supplies, lips quirking. Maka wants to be irritated with her, but Tsubaki had agreed to help her out preparing for her new position.

"Yeah."

Her smile turns a little bit wicked, and Maka thinks that maybe  _this_ is the payback for forcing a confrontation between her roommate and Black*Star. "You know, maybe you should just stay over at Soul's. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give you all the help you need."

" _T-tsubaki_!"

"Just saying."

Maka glares at her, but gives it up after a moment. She can feel the flush still on her face, but she can't really be mad at her roommate. "Are you ready to go?"

Black*Star looks between them, but nods. "Yeah, I'm good." He gives Tsubaki a look that Maka doesn't want to interpret, and she makes a point of going ahead and leaving. Black*Star follows her a moment later, grinning widely, and she's got a feeling that Tsubaki might not be spending the night alone.

* * *

"Did you want to come up?" She asks mostly for courtesy's sake, and isn't the least bit surprised when Black*Star declines. "Are you going back to your car or my apartment?" she can't help asking. He gives her a little eyeroll.

"I asked you to stay out of it, didn't I?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about, and that didn't answer my question."

"You are crazy obnoxious, you know that? Fine. I'm going back to your place."

"Cool." She gives him a little wave before heading inside. "Have a good night." Black*Star looks confused as she goes, shaking his head.

"Yeah, whatever. Later, short stuff."

She lets herself into Soul's apartment as quietly as she can. She doesn't actually expect him to be asleep, but on the off chance he is, she'd like him to stay that way. The TV's on when she steps in, and she sighs a little because he's back on the couch again, and really, it's starting to feel like a routine. Red eyes flicker open as she shuts and locks the door behind her.

"Hey," he says, voice scratchy with sleep and probably the remnants of his last pain pill. She'd be lying if she said that it didn't make something in her gut twist. She blames it on Tsubaki's sly suggestion, and tries not to think about what want feels like.

"Hey there."

"You gonna yell at me?" He stretches a little, eyes following her through his living room. She absolutely does not think the way his toes curl and flex is even slightly attractive. She shakes her head slightly.

"I don't know,  _should_  I yell at you?"

"Mmnope. I've been good."

She gives him a skeptical look. "I'm sure." She toes off her shoes and he scoots his feet over so she can sit on the futon. "You're the very soul of innocence."

He smirks at her, still sleepy. "You know it. How'd it go tonight?"

She rolls her shoulders, "Pretty decently. Giriko made a scene, but Kid took care of it." Maka hesitates, wondering if she ought to bring up her paranoia about Giriko.

"Kid came himself?" The moment is past, and she pushes it to the back of her brain. After all-Giriko's out of the picture and she's still got a Black*Star shadow.

"Yeah. Wanted to make sure nothing went funny."

"I bet it made a pretty strong statement to Medusa, too."

"I didn't see her, but I have no doubt she's gotten the message."

"Hm." Soul looks a little pensive, but just stretches a bit more. "You're staying again?" He keeps his voice casual.

"Yeah, if that's all right? I was going to stay home, but I think that ahhh, Black*Star and Tsubaki need some...time. I figured I'd take the futon...if you'd ever stop sleeping out here," she adds accusingly.

"What?" It's totally not a whine, really.

"You have a nice comfortable bed, and yet every time I come in, you're out here on the futon."

"Maybe I'm just waiting for you to get back? Maybe I don't like sleeping in that big bed all by myself?"

That throws her for a loop for a moment, but she recovers quickly, narrowing her eyes. "Or  _maybe_  it's because the TV's out here."

"Mmmm you've found me out, Detective."

She pokes the bottom of his foot, and he can't help twitching. "Come on, then. Bedtime for injured agents."

"Seriously?" She prods both his feet, and he bites back a bark of laughter. "Ah! Ok, Jesus, woman; you're gonna make me pull my stitches!"

"Then get up and get in bed, and we won't have this problem, now will we?"

He gives her a half-hearted glare, and she stands, shifting his feet to the floor and holding out a hand. He lets her tug him to standing, and if he leans on her a little more than normal, he tells himself that it's because he's still tired and a little drugged and not because he kind of likes the way she smells.

"Are you tucking me in?" he asks as she throws back his comforter. Maka just raises an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, yeah, ok." He slips in between the sheets and lets her tug up the covers. He expects her to leave, but she stands there for a moment, face contemplative. "You want in?" he asks, and he's mostly teasing, voice light. She cocks her head slightly.

"I've got a lot to do tomorrow. I could use a real bed, maybe. If you don't mind?"

He tamps down on his immediate response, which is something to the effect of  _are you fucking kidding me_ , and nods instead. "You know I don't," is what comes out, and that raspy quality is back in his voice. Maka shakes off the goosebumps that trail down her arms.

"Cool. I'll be in in a bit. I need to wind down." He nods. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," he replies. She gives him a small smile and clicks off the light as she leaves.

He wakes up long enough to feel it when Maka climbs into bed, but he doesn't check the time. He likes the warmth of her body under the sheets, and her careful, quiet, "Go back to sleep, Soul."

* * *

Maka waits to go home for what she's pretty sure is a more than reasonable length of time. The last thing that she wants is the explicit confirmation that Tsubaki and Black*Star are doing the deed in the form of walking in on Black*Star in  _any_  stage of undress.

She still gets an eyeful of shirtless mobster when she lets herself in. "Aw,  _geez_. Come on, guys! I gave you like, twelve hours!"

Tsubaki scrambles for her own shirt, face flushed. "M-maka!"

"And on the  _couch_?"

"What's the matter? You jellie?" Black*Star helps himself to a cup of coffee. "Eater isn't taking care of your needs?"

"What." She keeps her voice flat, but she's desperately afraid that her face is starting to heat up.

"What  _what_? You mad cause he didn't have the follow through? No  _untz untz untz_? Baow wow chicka baow wow? Don't take it out on me just cause he didn't rock you like a hurricane." He takes a sip of his coffee and gives her the once over. "Or  _maybe_  he did and he wasn't up to the challenge? All pop no sizzle?"

"Do you ever listen to yourself speak?"

Black*Star just waggles his eyebrows. "Nope! I'd much rather hear Tsu-"

" _Black*Star_." Tsubaki's embarrassed admonishment is enough to get him to be quiet, although, Maka notes, not enough to keep him from leering at her.

"What Eater does or doesn't  _do_  for me is none of your business, buddy," she manages to get out before stomping into the kitchen.

"He is  _not_  tapping that proper," Black*Star completely fails at whispering to her roommate. Maka considers it an iron feat of will to not chuck the coffee mug she's just grabbed at his head.

In spite of her embarrassed frustration, it's almost another half hour before Black*Star vacates their apartment, and by the time he does, Maka feels like she's a wired little ball of tension. She's not sure if it's just something inherently obnoxious about Black*Star, or if it's specifically because he seemed incapable of not making a suggestive comment about her and Soul every other sentence.

It shouldn't bother her. He's just giving her shit because that's what he  _does_  and it doesn't actually mean anything. She's overheard him doing the same thing to Soul. But it does, and if she's willing to contemplate it, she thinks that it might have something to do with the way she's been staying with him-how easy and comfortable it's been to sort of slip into this role. It doesn't feel strange that she lets herself into his apartment. Sharing a bed feels-well, she doesn't want to think about that, but it doesn't feel as weird as she thinks it probably ought to.

What it boils down to is that she hates how easily her face shows a blush, and she already loathes Black*Star's cackle.

"So," Tsubaki announces from the couch, Black*Star safely banished back to, presumably, his car. "How do you want to do this?"

"Um." It's about all she can muster. It's one thing to act like she can pull off a few stripper moves for Blair. It's another entirely to think that she can actually put together her own dance routine. She's seen the caliber of dancing talent at Chupa Cabra's, and she knows now what she didn't know then-she's going to have to work at this, or Blair's going to be able to tell right away that she's a fraud.

"Have you got music?"

"Um."

"Maka!"

"What? I wasn't exactly expecting to suddenly be a dancer, you know."

Tsubaki fingers the bridge of her nose lightly. "Have you talked to your insider sources yet? Maybe they're better suited for this than I am."

"They can't today, but I need to get started on this. Liz said she'd help me out tomorrow, though."

"Well, that's a relief. I mean, I guess we can pick you out some music at least? Come on, Maka."

"Huh?"

Tsubaki gives her an eyebrow. "To YouTube. How else are we going to find good stripper routines for you to emulate?"

Together, they get more accomplished than Maka expects, and when she calls to check on her partner, he insists that he's fine and she doesn't need to come and make sure he has dinner. In the background, she's pretty sure she can hear Black*Star rummaging in the fridge, so she lets it go and ends up having a nice dinner at an almost reasonable time with her roommate.

She goes to bed in her own room, in her own perfectly comfortable bed, and if it takes her a little longer than normal to fall asleep, she tells herself that it's because she's nervous for her lesson with Liz and Pattie that she's got planned for tomorrow. It absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that her sheets aren't flannel and don't smell like one Agent Evans. Nope.


	15. Countless Misdemeanors

Chapter 15- Countless Misdemeanors

* * *

Maka isn't sure what she's expecting when she hits up the Thompson girls' apartment. It's in a reasonably decent part of town-a little better than where Soul's staying, but not quite as nice as her place. They're on the 5th floor of a walkup, and Pattie answers her knock with a wide smile.

"Come on in, Kitten," she chirps, and Maka rolls her eyes.

"Ugh. I could seriously hurt Blair for giving me that nickname," she says as Pattie shuts the door behind her.

"Awwww, I kind of like it. It suits you," she grins at Maka's scowl. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Thanks, but I'm good for now." She stands awkwardly in their living room for a moment before Pattie grabs her by the hand and tugs her towards one of the back rooms.

"Come on, then. Liz has the pole set up for you and everything. Time's a wastin'." Maka lets herself be pulled, and finds herself in what she's assuming is Liz's room. Given what her space at work looks like, Maka's a little surprised that her room is as clean as it is. Despite Pattie's warning, she's still completely unprepared for the reality of a dancing pole set up in the middle of a bedroom.

"I-"

"It's not going to bite you," Liz states. Of course, she's also upside down as she says it, so Maka isn't really sure how much she ought to believe her. She looks between the two sisters-Liz sliding with deceptive grace around the pole and Pattie flipping through an mp3 player with single minded determination-and feels suddenly and completely out of her depth. Liz dismounts with a flourish, and Maka just stares. "What's the matter?"

"I-" she swallows. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"What like...not at all?" Liz asks.

Maka shakes her head. "I have never been on a pole before." Behind her, Pattie snickers quietly, and Liz cracks a grin that Maka can't quite interpret. "What?"

"N-nothing." Liz chokes a little, but before Maka can pursue further questioning, she asks, "So if you've never danced before, how'd you manage to convince Blair to hire you? She's usually pretty thorough with that kind of thing."

"I'm really good at faking it, apparently."

Liz stares at her for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. "Oh _god_ ," she mumbles.

"If that's the case, I think you'll do just fine," Pattie adds, grin enormous. Maka stares at them for a long moment before she gets it, her face flushing bright red. She resists the urge to bury her face in her palms.

" _Really_  guys?"

"Ok, ok. Sorry." Liz does not, in fact, look the least bit sorry, but Maka lets it go. "Have you done any dancing before?"

"Not really. I ah-I did a little gymnastics in back in high school? But I'm not sure if that really counts. And it was  _ages_  ago."

Pattie gives her an approving look. "Oooh, gymnast. We can work with that."

"Consider your new line of work a whole new way to pole vault."

"I bet you'll be vaulting some poles in no time," Pattie adds. Liz, to her credit, manages to not start giggling again, even if she does turn a suspicious shade of red.

"I am pretty sure she's got _that_  under control if Eater's been any indication."

" _LIZ_!"

"What? Everyone knows he's totally into you." Before Maka can respond to that particular brand of nonsense with anything more than her best impression of a fish, Liz moves on. "Now, what you're going to want to do is grab the pole like so-"

They spend almost an hour going over what Liz assures her are very basic, but very key moves that can be utilized in a variety of ways. Both Thompsons claim that they don't really work from routines, but rather that they wing it, which does pretty much zilch in terms of Maka's confidence.

"You know," Liz teases as they break for water and a snack, "you're pretty fit for a cop."

Maka rolls her eyes. "I try to limit my daily donut intake to five instead of the full dozen," she says wryly. "Gotta keep up my girlish figure." They laugh a little at that, and it feels good to be able to joke about her job for once.

"Seriously though-you've got good upper body strength and strong legs. That's going to help a _lot_ ," Pattie adds. Maka is pretty sure that her arms are actually noodles, but she takes the compliment. "And there's a whole bunch of stuff you can do that doesn't involve lifts."

"Biggest thing to remember-keep it simple. If you don't think you can go through with a more complicated maneuver? Don't do it. It's awesome, and you get hella tips for it when it goes well, but if you fuck up?" Liz shakes her head. "It doesn't go well, and you're looking at being taken right off the pole again, or even fired." She cocks her head to the side and looks at Maka appraisingly. "Though I suppose that wouldn't really matter all that much to you, would it?"

Once again, she's reminded of the vast difference in their lives, and she gives a noncommittal shrug. "It's my job right now. Until we wrap this case up, or they pull me, I need to be here." She wants them to know that she's vested-this isn't some case of little rich girl plays at being a dancer. Maka has a job to do, and right now, this happens to be part of her job. She's not entirely sure what the Thompsons think of her, but Liz nods carefully and continues.

"The point is-no one likes a fuck up. And most of these douchebags can't tell if what you're doing is the chicken dance or fucking Swan Lake as long as you're showing them skin and grinding on the pole occasionally."

"Men are simple creatures," Pattie adds sagely. Maka's tempted to agree-thoughts of her father come to mind almost immediately-but unbidden, she thinks about her partner and stalls out a little bit in her snap judgment.

"Mm," she replies vaguely.

They keep going until it's time to go to work, and then hop a bus down to Chupa Cabra's together. Maka's noodle arms feel like they've gone completely liquid, and she isn't entirely sure how she's going to manage to hold her drink trays. She hopes that it's not horrifically busy. On the plus side, Liz and Pattie both seem more than pleased with her progress, even if they are completely unhelpful when it comes to actually planning out a routine.

"You gotta improvise," Pattie insists as she stretches out in the changing room. Maka watches her foot go all the way over the top of her head, and wonder if maybe Pattie had ever wanted to be a ballerina. She can't even remember if she was that flexible when she was doing gymnastics regularly.

Maka shakes her head. "I dunno, I've never been the best at improvising." It's not strictly the truth, but for her, there's a difference between improvising when your life's on the line and improvising when you're showing your ass off to leering gangsters. Even still, she keeps an even closer eye on the dancers during her shift, and is pleased to notice that she's able to pick out several of the moves that the Thompsons taught her.

Black*Star drops her off at Soul's again that night, and while she's not thrilled that he's on the futon again, at least he's still awake this time. He seems a little surprised to see her, but not upset. She shrugs a little at his unvoiced question.

"Wanted to make sure that Black*Star hadn't poisoned you last night."

"I did most of the cooking," Soul defended himself. "Well, ok. I told him how to make mac and cheese." She laughs a little and he smiles.

"Good. Don't want you straining anything."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "How'd your lesson go?"

She sighs heavily and flaps an arm at him. "I don't know how anyone ever beats up a dancer," she admits. "I'm pretty sure either of those girls are stronger than the both of us combined. My arms are useless." Soul laughs a little and she doesn't pretend that she doesn't like the way he rubs her shoulder comfortingly.

* * *

She spends every spare moment for the rest of the week practicing-she spends most of her time with the sisters Thompson, and as a result, she spends most of her nights in Soul's apartment. It's closer to them and more convenient, she mentions casually when he asks, and he doesn't seem to mind at all.

By the time she wakes up Sunday, she's exhausted from both work and practice, and she might possibly be freaking out slightly. The club's been eerily quiet, and she's only seen brief glimpses of Medusa. Kid's been almost as quiet. She wants to get her hands around Giriko's neck and make him sing, but neither she nor Soul are allowed anywhere near him for the sake of their cover. Ox is still working on the drug sample Maka had given to Stein, and Chrona, well-Kid mentioned that, assuming Chrona ever came out of the coma, they would be interrogating the former cop. She tries very emphatically not to think about it. There isn't anything she can do, not even really the hospital, so she pushes the whole thing to the back of her brain.

She fixes a quick breakfast for the two of them, and wolfs down her half. She leaves Soul's in the microwave, and is out the door before he even wakes. She jogs most of the way to the Thompsons' apartment, nervous energy singing through her veins.

Liz greets her blearily at the door to their apartment. "Ma-Honey? What are you doing here?" She's still in what looks like her pajamas, hair mussed. Maka realizes somewhat belatedly that, in her nervousness, she's up about three hours earlier than normal.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry I just-I just wanted to get in some more practice and I didn't realize it was this early-"

Liz gives her a look that's partially sympathetic and partially _what am I going to do with you_  and motions her in. "You know, there's not really much else we can teach you. It's all repetition and just, you know- _doing it_."

"I know, I know. You guys have been really great and I appreciate the help, but Blair's starting me tomorrow and-"

"You'll be fine, you know."

Maka squeaks, "Really?"

Liz clucks a little, and pats Maka on the back. For a moment, she wonders if this is what having an older sister is like-someone to encourage you and help you along. Then she remembers the sheer number of dick jokes she's had to endure since training with Liz, and she's not entirely sure why that's still comforting. "Really."

The blond leaves her standing in the living room while she disappears into her bedroom. She reappears a few moments later with a large duffle bag that clanks slightly. "We thought this might happen. Consider this on loan."

"What?" Maka shoulders the bag, which as far as she can tell, is full of steel.

"Think of this as being kicked out of the nest. Don't wear yourself out dancing or stressing. And you know-be confident. This isn't really any different than what you're doing already-you're just performing. The audience is just a little more literal this time."

_Oh_ , she realizes as Liz hustles her out the door, duffle banging into her spine and hip.  _It's her dancing pole_. Liz prods her a little as she leaves. "If you're going to practice some more anyway, I'd make sure I do a little run through with someone who has a cock. You know, just to make sure it's really good." Maka blinks. "I bet Eater would volunteer!" And before she can formulate some kind of response, Liz just gives her a giant, toothy grin. "See you tonight!"

The door slams not quite in her face, and Maka stares for a long moment at the peeling paint. " _What_."

The door fails to respond.

Tsubaki, Maka finds, isn't much more helpful, though she's at least more awake and willing to sit through a run through of Maka's routine. Even after she's gotten the pole set up in their living room, and done a decent number of the moves that she's learned, Tsubaki's reaction is mostly, "Well, it looks good to me."

"Tsubaki-I need more than that! Is there anything I need to improve? How do I look? Do the moves flow together all right? Does it look stilted? It feels awkward. Does it _look_  awkward?"

"Um," Tsubaki says, and Maka would like to strangle her best friend for the amused expression she is completely failing at hiding. "I mean, don't get me wrong," she says from her position on the couch. "I'm definitely enjoying you dancing around- _I_  think you look fine, but I'm not exactly the expert, here."

"Thanks." It comes out dry as the desert.

"You  _did_  ask," Tsubaki admonishes her. "No reason to get snippy."

Maka's mouth twists. "I  _know_ ; I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a pain in the ass-"

"I know. It's gotta be nerve-wracking. But you're going to do just fine, I'm sure." Maka flops next to her on the couch.

"Urgh. Don't you have _any_  useful feedback?"

"You know," Tsubaki suggests, and Maka gives her a wary look. "If you're  _that_  worried about it-why don't you get a second opinion?"

"You  _are_  my second opinion."

"Well, if I were a guy, I'd totally fling some ones at you for that performance."

Maka can't help the laugh. "What? Just ones?"

"I'm telling you. Second opinion."

Maka groans. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

She doesn't like the sly look Tsubaki gives her. "What do  _you_  think?"

* * *

"You want me to do  _what_  now?" Soul knows that he heard her request, but he's not entirely sure that he's not hallucinating it, because there is no way in hell that she came into his apartment, took off her shirt, and immediately asked him-

"I just need you to watch my routine and give me some feedback. Liz won't help me anymore and Tsubaki said it was alright, but she wasn't sure and they  _both_  said I needed another opinion, and, well-" She  _knows_  she's rambling, but it feels like she if she doesn't get it all out at once, she never will. It wasn't this hard to ask Tsubaki for this favor. "You  _are_  a guy."

_Fuck_ , he thinks. "Um-thaaaaanks?"

"Well, I mean, you don't  _have_  to. I could ask Black*Star, I guess, but I'm pretty sure that Tsubaki would veto that and-"

"Do you _want_  to ask Black*Star?" He cuts her off, voice weird and strained.

"Not really, no. He's pretty much my last resort."

"And your first resort?"

"As far as getting a male opinion? You, dumbass. Except  _you're_  not cooperating, and I need your help." She totally does not fiddle with the tie on her yoga pants. "Just...think of it as an assignment. You can do that, right?"

Can he? He exhales slowly and wishes in vain that he hadn't forgone his Vicodin earlier today. At least then, he would have some kind of excuse when this inevitably came back and bit him in the ass. Or other parts. Even still, he finds himself answering, "Yeah, I can do that."

She absolutely does not look excited, but her relief is palpable as she breathes a thank you and scrambles to set up Liz's portable pole.

"What is  _that_?"

"It's a  _pole_ ," she says, shifting the coffee table out of her way.

"So I see." It feels a little cramped between the tv and the futon, but she just asks Soul to stand for a moment, and scoots that back a little further. He watches helplessly as she rearranges things to her particular specifications. "You didn't need to move all of that. I could have just moved."

She shoots him a look. "But I want you to be comfortable. You're injured." As though he was in danger of forgetting anytime soon. He doesn't bother mentioning that there is no place he can sit during this that is going approach being "comfortable."

Maka starts up her music and takes a deep breath. It is, she tells herself, just a practice run. There's no better way for her to simulate the actual conditions she's going to be working in aside from at the club itself. She can do this. The beat is heavy, on the edge of almost too slow, and it pulses through her feet and fingertips as she takes her first twirl around the pole.

She tries to focus on the music, on the bass, and not on her partner's face as she brings one long leg up and twists. She curls the other leg up, gripping the pole. Maka can feel the strain in her arms and, remembering Liz's advice, chooses to switch up her moves before her arms can give out and she falters. She rocks down, undulating against the pole, sinking into a crouch and another spin. Despite her best efforts, she can't help but look at him as she turns.

His jaw is clenched, fists tight against the fabric of his pajama pants. Soul swallows, and can't decide which he wants more-to ask her to stop or to beg her to continue. He's known since he met her that she has a sort of natural grace-even with the way she would falter slightly on her unfamiliar heels. He just never really expected to be confronted with it quite like this. The music is fading into the next song on her playlist, and he realizes with a jolt that she's stopped and is staring at him expectantly.

"Uh," he manages. Her hands settle on her hips. He catches his breath. "It was good.  _Really_  good."

"Why is that all anyone will tell me? Wasn't there something that needed to be changed? Something I can do better? I think my turns are too jerky-"

"N-not really. I guess..." he struggles to find words that aren't essentially _take me, I'm yours_ , and settles on, "You're a little...stiff? Maybe try to loosen up a little."

She scowls a little. "I  _am_  trying. It's...hard. I'm not good at this."

He would beg to fucking differ. She's more than good enough at this, and he's simultaneously glad and furious that he's not going to be at the club to see her perform. Soul leans forward gingerly, fingertips reaching out to brush her arm. "Really? You're going to be fine. No one there is going to be able to tell that you haven't been doing this for ages."

She gives him a small smile, "I can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or not."

"Compliment," he assured her, and in that moment, he isn't sure just what it is that possesses him. "There is one thing, though."

"What?" She crosses her arms, attention focused on him. It's more than a little disconcerting, and he's waiting for this whole thing to go horribly, spectacularly wrong.

"Have you considered that being a dancer means that you're going to be-ah, _available_?"

"For the private rooms?" He nods. "It's crossed my mind," she admits. She swallows and licks her lips, and Soul is completely incapable of reading her face, and that is completely why he's still staring at her. "What do you suggest? More practice?"

_Fuck_. "It might not be a bad idea." He tries for a casual smirk. "I mean, I'm already here." Her lips twitch in response.

"For the assignment."

"For the assignment," he agrees as she moves a little closer.

The song on her mp3 player isn't one she's overly familiar with, but she doesn't take the time to change it. She's not sure that if she does, she'll have the guts to go through with this. Her eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as she forces herself to slip back into the thrumming bass. Her hips move carefully in a slow sway, and Soul has never been quite so grateful for electronica before. It's hard not to be reminded of their first accidental encounter. Soul barely survived that one with his dignity intact, and as she leans over him, tips of her ponytail brushing his collarbone, her warm hands resting carefully on his shoulders, he's not really anticipating a better outcome. She backs away, fingers trailing along his arms, down towards his lap and twists, hips still moving. He's got a clear shot of the line of her spine and what has to be the best ass he's ever seen.

"How's this?" she asks, tone carefully neutral as she bends at the waist. He has never been more turned on by a pair of yoga pants, and it's starting to fuck with him.

"Good. Maybe a little closer." He wonders how long it is going to take before he can't stop himself from touching. His fists clench just a little tighter into his pants as she wriggles back towards him, arching back up. It's a hideously unpracticed move, and it might be the hottest thing he's seen as she looks over her shoulder at him. "Better," he croaks.

She grins a little at his approval and turns back to face him. He can only catch a moment's hesitation before she's hovering over him again. He presses back against the futon as far as he can go and tells himself that it's to give her the space she needs to move properly. She plants her knees on either side of his thighs, and rocks carefully in time with the music as it slides into yet another bass-heavy track.

"Hands?" she asks, and she's pretty sure she's failing at her attempt to keep this professional and clinical. Soul nods once, almost sharply, and she lets herself touch his shoulders again, bringing her fingers to chase lightly across his collarbones and down his arms. They hover for a moment at his hips and she gives him another look.

He nods again with a faint, "Careful," and she skims her hands back up his chest, barely tracing his stitches. Soul makes a noise in the back of his throat that she's never heard before, and she stops, terrified for a moment that she's hurt him. He must see the panic on her face because he hastily says, "Keep going."

She sinks back over her heels, hips and hands still constantly moving, and Soul bites his lip. He should stop her. He should stop her because she clearly has a grip on what she needs to do. He should stop her because this is more than the assignment, because he's hard and in half a second, she's going to start gyrating against what he considers to be the most unfortunate of boners-he can think of a million reasons to ask her to stop, and all he can do is bite his lip and dig his fingers into his thighs.

She doesn't stop, and he doesn't ask, and he can tell the moment she rubs against him. She pauses, green eyes impossibly wide as she looks at him. Maka wonders if he can tell how shallow her breathing is. There's something almost apologetic in his blown out pupils as he stares at her. She's not stupid, and she's not exactly innocent, but this is her partner now. It doesn't matter that they'd started down this road before-that was a different situation, and they may as well have been different people. She can smell his soap.

Maka moves, eyes never leaving his. She rolls her hips and doesn't try to hide the way she's breathing-short and sharp.

Soul swallows thickly. His hands slide up her thighs to grasp her hips and he's not supposed to touch-in no possible scenario is it ok for him to be touching her like this.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat grinds against him, eyes still focused unerringly on him.

He is in  _so much trouble_.

 


	16. Throw Some Glitter Make it Rain

Chapter 16- Throw some glitter make it rain

* * *

She's so tense when she starts her shift at Chupa Cabra's that she contemplates taking a shot. Or three. Maka doesn't know what she was thinking, taking Tsubaki and Liz's advice. Her routine would have been perfectly fine without Soul's input. It was completely unnecessary, and what's worse-

She doesn't want to think about the stricken look on his face as she ground into him wantonly, about how, despite the erection he was clearly sporting for her, he had gently gripped her thighs and made her stop. It felt a lot like rejection, especially when he had urged her up and off his lap with a "I'm pretty sure you've got the hang of it," followed by words that made her spine cold. "I think you should go, now."

Which is really just stupid because they're just partners. It can't be rejection when there's nothing for him to reject her  _for_. She's being overly sensitive. After all, she's the one who asked for his help, which, she reminds herself, he willingly gave. And it isn't like they're dating or sleeping together (well, _sleeping together_ ) or anything, so really it doesn't matter that he asked her to go home.

Cause it's his apartment. Not hers. And they're together...as partners, not _together_. Which she definitely doesn't want because that would be...foolish in the extreme. Nothing good ever comes out of dating your partner. She's seen those relationships implode enough to know first hand. Still, she knows what rejection feels like, and this is definitely rejection.

She delivers a tray of sub-par domestic beer to a table of rowdy thugs, and she doesn't even bother to respond to their catcalls. She's afraid, she realizes somewhere between the tables and the bar, and it has nothing to do with the thugs and everything to do with Soul and the fact that she's got to admit to herself that she  _wants_  him. She wanted to give him that lapdance in a way that had very little to do with the fact that she needed the practice, and everything to do with the way her mouth went dry every time he walked around shirtless or did little things like make her drinks and let her sleep in his bed and took all the shit she gave him with that wry twist of his lips.

She had thought that he wanted that, too. And maybe, she thinks, that's where this pain in her chest is coming from. She wanted him, and thought he wanted her, and he didn't. It's as simple as that. She breathes through her mouth. It's not like it's the first time she's been wrong about this kind of thing. And really, it's probably for the best. So she wants to have sex with him? So what? She's wanted people before and hasn't gotten them. This won't kill her.

Even if it will be a little awkward. Thanks to this situation-this unexpected partnership that's thrown them together-she feels closer to Soul than she has anyone else she's been partnered with before. And  _that_ , she is sure, is why she feels so shitty. She doesn't want to have fucked that up because of a little meaningless attraction.

Liz corners her about halfway through her shift with a shit-eating grin that falls the moment she notices that Maka's not responding.

"Ok, spill."

That is pretty much exactly the last thing that Maka wants to do. If she's learned one thing during the course of her assignment, it's that Liz Thompson means well, and as a result cannot keep her nose out of someone else's business. Idly, she wonders if that's how Liz ended up helping Kid out, but that's just not the kind of thing that you just ask someone.

She just shrugs her shoulder. "Spill what?" It's pretty flimsy, and they both know it.

"Did you get an extra opinion?"

"Yeah." Maka wills Liz to just drop it, but the blonde leans a little closer.

" _And_?"

"And he liked it," she tries to keep her tone casual, but the elder Thompson remains unfortunately perceptive.

"And that's it?" Liz looks at her intently, and after a short moment, pulls back just a little, her fingertips resting lightly on Maka's arm.

Maka nods. She's trying so hard to keep her face neutral. Soul is her partner, and no matter what Liz or Pattie or Tsubaki think, that's all there is to it.

Liz squeezes her arm faintly, and she guesses that she failed, because Liz definitely is reading something unintended in her features. "You're going to knock them dead," she says, and for a brief moment, Maka is deeply, profoundly, grateful that Liz isn't pressing anymore.

"I'm gonna try," she says, and gives the older woman a small smile.

"You're going to be fine," Liz asserts, and Maka's smile is just a little wider.

* * *

He knows the minute that the words left his mouth that he fucked up. She hadn't stormed out of his apartment, but the careful, slow way she got up and nodded, gathered her things, and quietly shut the door behind her was somehow a million times worse. She covered it well, but he couldn't miss the flash of hurt in her eyes, and as much as he wanted to take back his words, to ask her to come back, to finish what they'd started, he  _can't_.

The worst part is that he  _wants_. He wants Maka with a fierceness that startles him, that makes his blood boil and his jaw clench. She's gone, but he can still feel the heat of her, the weight of her slow grind against his lap. He sees her green eyes, focused so intently on him every time he closes his eyes. He groans from his spot on the couch and slowly, guiltily, grinds the heel of his hand against his dick. It doesn't help.

The problem, he knows, isn't that he's attracted to her. He'd been attracted to her the minute she'd snuck into his private room at Chupa Cabra's. The problem is the fact that he knows her now, that she's his partner and he'd like to think, his friend, and he's not any less captivated by her. In fact, he's pretty sure that he's only become more attracted to her. That's Grade Fucking A dangerous, especially immersed as they are in this case.

Soul scrubs a hand over his face, through already tousled hair, and tries not to think of Maka, warm and willing, of her thighs and her eyes and the way her fingertips brushed against him so lightly. He really doesn't think about the way she bustles around his apartment and wears his hoodie because that way lies a special kind of madness.

His dick twitches insistently, and that's one problem that he's going to have to deal with. Soul isn't proud of the way he shoves down the waistband of his pajama pants and grips his erection. He bites his lip, choking off a groan as he strokes himself slowly. Maka had left in enough of a hurry that she hadn't even bothered to take down that damn portable pole, and  _fuck_ , he's got a new whole catalog of imagery to draw on now.

He knows that he didn't imagine the way she had brushed against him, the way she'd paused, staring, breath shallow, before going into a filthy grind against him. There was no way she could have missed his wildly inappropriate boner. He rocks his hips up into his fist, and there's just enough of the slick-slide of precum and friction that he doesn't even pretend that this is going to last more than a few minutes.

What if, his traitorous little brain says, she'd stayed? It's no great effort to imagine her lips against his, harsh and biting and sweet-he replays that alley kiss more than he'll ever admit, the way her hand had snaked down his chest, teased his cock-the way she'd pressed against him without hesitation in Chupa Cabra's. He groans, hand speeding up. If he hadn't opened his mouth, she would have stayed, would have maybe pulled down his pants and wrapped her hand around his dick. He would have leaned forward, tasting her neck again, pulled gasping breaths from her mouth and swallowing them down, and she would have been wet, so wet for him as he slipped a hand in her pants and-

His rhythm stutters, and he's coming suddenly and forcefully and all over his t-shirt.  _Fuck_. He sits there for a long moment, brain a little scrambled. The guilt settles into his stomach before he really recovers from his orgasm. It's not like this is the first time his partner has had a feature role in his spank-bank fantasies, but it feels different this time, like maybe he's crossed a line that he didn't know existed. He can't deny that he had encouraged her, had wanted her, and then just as suddenly pushed her away.

Soul sighs heavily, limbs still feeling a little noodly. His shirt is a lost cause; he really hopes that this doesn't end up as an allegory for his partnership, too. He has _got_  to get his shit together.

* * *

The last thing that Maka wants after her day is Black*Star's dubious company, but she's fought and lost this battle before and resigns herself to being driven home. Her shoulders tense just a little when he makes an increasingly familiar turn, and she clears her throat slightly.

"Actually, can you take me back to my place tonight?"

Black*Star shoots her a look and a raised eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?"

She snorts, "I don't know what you're talking about." It sounds more like a huff than a calm assertion, even to her ears.

Black*Star whistles through his teeth and she winces because he's loud even when he doesn't mean to be, and it's amplified in the cabin of his monster SUV. "Oh, little Soul-ja boy musta fucked up good."

She eyes him incredulously because does he even know what he sounds like most of the time? Black*Star blinks back, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give her a knowing look. Maka decides he probably does.

"He didn't fuck anything up."  _I did_. "I want my own bed for a change is all."

"Really? Cause Soul's got a pretty nice bed."

"I-what?"

"What? It's a great bed." Black*Star glances over at her, eyebrow raised. She can't honestly tell if he's fucking with her, or not. She is _not_  going to ask, she's not. Nope. Not gonna do it.

"N-nothing. Just, back to my place, please."

"Aight. Whatever, piglet."

" _What_  did you just call me?"

She's tempted to tell Black*Star to fuck right off when he finally pulls up to her apartment, but that would be a lot like punishing Tsubaki for her boyfriend's inability to keep his stupid trap shut. She's still having enough trouble wrapping her brain about the idea of her roommate dating someone like Black*Star. Maka's trying to get over it-every time she thinks something derogatory about the mobster, she swears she can hear Tsubaki's admonition that Black*Star is a man who has done bad  _things_ , but he is not a bad  _man_.

It helps, she admits, that he's effectively dropped Arachnophobia like a bad habit.

Tsubaki's already home when they get upstairs, and Maka is suddenly glad that Black*Star came with her, if only because it distracts her roommate enough that she can stealthily sneak into her room. The last thing she wants is another confrontation on  _how things went with Soul_. She's already spent more than enough time dwelling on it. Even still, she pulls out her cell and shoots him a quick text.

_Home safe._

She's irritated, not a jerk, after all. She doesn't check her texts, though. If it was important, Kid or Soul would have just called to begin with.

Soul will still be there tomorrow, and she'll still have to survive her first night of being a dancer, and she'll force her way past the inevitable awkwardness because it's not like she's never made shit awkward before. For the first time in a long while, she gets ready for bed before 4 am, she doesn't review the case, and she doesn't talk to Soul, despite the fact that she hears her phone buzz with a text message that can only be him. Instead, she curls into her bed and reaches for the neglected novel gathering dust on her nightstand.

From the living room, she can hear the surprisingly soft murmur of Tsubaki and Black*Star, and the occasional bark of Black*Star's laughter.

* * *

The hospital is all bright lights and stark white and the smell of forced sterility, and no matter how much time he spends here, Kid will never, ever get used to it. He moves quickly, shoes tapping forcefully against bleached tile as he makes his way to a little-used, out of the way ward. Kid hadn't wanted to put Chrona in the hospital at all-it makes him nervous with his inability to monitor and control the situation, but there was no doubt that the kid would have died otherwise. Kid remembers the look on the surgeon's face, and knows that it was a miracle Chrona hadn't died already, body broken and torn and-Kid shudders.

What a fucking mess.

He slips through the ward door without any trouble, and is greeted by the alert eyes of one of his top officers. Kid doesn't miss the faint slide of a gun being put away.

"Éclair."

"Captain," Sergeant Harvar Éclair acknowledges from his hospital bed.

"How's it going?"

"The usual. It's been quiet, mostly. Just the normal rotation of doctors and nurses."

"And our patient?"

Harvar winces faintly. "Still having the nightmares. Loudly and at length." Kid gives him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder. "Seems to be spending a little more time conscious, at least."

"That good. Has Chrona said anything?"

"Not more than a few words, and nothing I could really make out."

"Well, better than nothing, I suppose."

"I'll say. It's a miracle the kid survived at all."

"No joke."

Neither had been speaking particularly loudly, but when Kid pulls back the curtain separating the two beds, Chrona is very definitely awake and very definitely staring at him, pale eyes blown wide. He takes a quick inventory of Chrona-wrist and leg in a cast, bandages everywhere from what had to have been hundreds of shallow and not so shallow cuts-under the bandages, Kid knows he'd find a wealth of stitches carefully sewn into paper thin skin. Giriko really did a number on the kid, not taking into account the damage that Maka had inflicted. Kid wonders if there's anyway that they can get Chrona in shape to testify against Giriko if he manages to squirrel out of the current set of charges laid against him.

He hopes it won't be necessary.

Chrona's eyes are still sunken, skin stretched tight over bones and so, so frail looking. Even still, it's an improvement. The worst of the DTs seem to have passed, and Kid's pleased to see that Chrona almost looks completely aware of him and the room.

He moves further into Chrona's space, but doesn't settle into the visitor's chair, just-stands. He's not sure why he's so reluctant; Chrona's eyes mostly manage to track his movement across the room. The improvement is incredible.

"C-captain?" It comes out cracked and unsure and familiar, but less than a month ago, Kid wouldn't have ever thought he'd hear it again.

"Hey there, buddy," he says, and offers a small smile. Chrona blinks, and Kid thinks he sees the faint twitching of a lip that could be construed as a smile in another life. "How're you feeling?" he asks. It's mostly cursory-Kid imagine Chrona feels a lot like hell.

"Hurts," comes the barely audible reply.

"Yeah, I know it does, but the doctors say you're healing really well."

"Not me," Chrona croaks. "It's Ragnarock. He hurts. Can you make it stop?"

He doesn't stay much longer, partially afraid of causing a relapse for Chrona, brought on my too much stress. Kid wants to know how much Chrona remembers, how much they can maybe use against Medusa and Arachnophobia, but he doesn't want to push. More than anything, he wants to be sure that they're going to be able to use Chrona to testify at all.

Kid feels something else entirely clench and sink in his chest as he leaves. Chrona blinks slowly up at him, seeing but not really  _seeing_ , and Kid bites down on his fear. The important thing is that Chrona gets better, he thinks. One thing at a time.

* * *

Ox Ford stares blankly at the results of his analysis. It's been a week since Stein handed over the sample fluid Detective Albarn had brought in, labelled "URGENT," and he still doesn't know what's going on with it. It's a puzzle, and he's determined to solve it. Unfortunately, there are only so many hours in the day, and his other work starts to pile up quickly.

With a dismayed grunt, he pushes aside the sample and pulls out his analysis of the blood sample that Death the Kid himself had brought in.

He knows he's brilliant, and he knows that there is something between these two samples, but he can't get the science to line up. He's missing some key-something that links the two and can tell him what, exactly, it is that this mystery drug does and how it functions. He picks up the phone and dials Stein's number to give him yet another disappointing progress report.

* * *

Maka can feel her heart pounding, the hot pulse of blood through her arms, her legs-she doesn't know why she thought that they stage lights were going to be brighter. She stares at them almost every night. Blair likes to keep them low enough that the dancers can make believable eye contact with the customers, so they can "forge a real connection," the manager informed her over a nearly overflowing Manhattan weeks ago. She doesn't know how she forgot that, suddenly.

Liz gives her a crooked smile from the wings and from behind her, Pattie throws both thumbs up enthusiastically. She thinks that she's going to be sick, but she pushes it down. She can hear Blair's silky smooth voice purring over the microphone because she gets some kind of kick out of introducing a new act. Maka swallows and throws her shoulders back, tilts her head up and smiles. It feels wrong and forced, but it's just a performance. She can do this.

She can see the audience past the stage lights, but she doesn't focus on them, not yet. One foot in front of the other, eyes on the pole. Don't think about the heels, don't think about the fact that the stage is kind of sticky with spilled drinks and sweaty palms. The bass kicks in as she reaches for the pole, and Maka exhales, flashing a grin at a random face in the audience as she jumps. Despite her palms, her grip is strong and she spins, quick and easy.

Every so often, she'll catch a glimpse of a face she recognizes-once she accidentally caught Black*Star's grinning face. She's not entirely sure that he doesn't give her a thumbs up. Even with all of her practicing, and her general level of fitness, she can start to feel the strain in her arms as her first song begins to wind down, and she's only got a brief respite as Ke$ha fades out and her second song comes on. It's slower, harder, and she can't remember why she chose it now, other than it's hard to lose the heavy beat of a NIN song. She slides down the pole to engage in her floorwork, and focuses on dancing, on the lights, the music, on anything but the brush of hands she doesn't know and the slide of money against her skin.

When her set ends, it's to catcalls and clapping, and Liz is beaming at her from the wings as she tries not to stumble off the stage. Her arms hurt, her legs kind of hurt, and as the adrenaline winds out of her system, she can feel the bile start to rise in her throat again. Maka gives Liz a shaky smile.

"I knew you could do it," the blond tells her, hand warm on her shoulder.

"Th-thanks."

Liz smiles at her again as she slips past the curtain, and Maka feels a little of the tightness in her chest loosen. That lasts about as long as it takes for Blair to find her. The woman is practically glowing, her well-manicured fingers reaching out to pinch Maka's cheeks before she can even register what's happening.

"Oh, you little  _gem_! I knew when I hired you you had potential!"

"Um-" Maka remembers that conversation, and she's pretty sure Blair thought no such thing.

"We'll rotate you on again in another hour, but we'll keep it light-I know it's been a while since you danced regularly and  _oh_  we are going to have to do something about your costuming and-" Maka lets Blair's chatter wash over her, hearing her words, but not really paying too much attention until she hears the word "topless," and feels that slight panic rising again.

Later, she doesn't fully recall getting through the rest of her shift. She knows that she did another round on the stage, vaguely remembers that her reception was good, if the noise was any indication. Maka had tried to focus on the crowd, on picking out individual faces, on recognizing them and matching them with the data she's been compiling over the last month or so. On the plus side, it keeps her from getting too hung up on the fact that she's grinding herself against a metal pole for strangers-most of whom are shady characters at best. If she's got to focus on work so she doesn't focus on _work_ , then that is exactly what she'll do.

Black*Star's waiting for her with a truly shit-eating grin when she says goodnight to Free and slips out the backdoor of the club.

"Not a word," she snaps. His grin widens just a little.

"But-"

" _No_."

"You're no fun, piglet."

"I swear to  _god_ , Black*Star."

"Yeah, yeah. You coming or what?"

She climbs into the Black*Star Mobile and buckles her seatbelt. "I wasn't expecting to see you in there tonight," she says after he's pulled out into the street with a tire squeal that she didn't think could be made exiting a parking space.

"Eh, thought it might be time I start showing my face again, now that Giriko's out and things have calmed down a little." Maka stiffens a little. Black*Star gives her a look out of the corner of his eye. "Relax, short stack. I'm just looking out for my minions. I'm gonna be like...a ninja. Arachnophobia won't know what hit them."

"Are you planning something?" it comes out sharper than she really means, but if Black*Star is going to pull something, she wants to know about it so they can either stop him or head off the inevitable collateral damage.

"I'm like a Girl Scout, Albarn-always prepared."

Maka blinks. She doesn't even have a response for that. Black*Star looks incredibly pleased with himself, and she can't quite bring herself to correct him. The quiet lasts as long as it takes her to realize that her chauffeur has taken it upon himself to take her back to Soul's.

"What-why are we here?" The look he gives her drips with a level of perception that Maka is wholly uncomfortable with. "If I told you to butt out, would it work?" she asks finally.

"About as well as it did when I told you the same."

_Fuck_. "Yeah, ok. Fine." She knows that she needs to go up there eventually-that she needs to talk to her partner, even if there is a little part of her that dreads it. She can get past the sting of rejection, she  _can_ , it's just that it still feels raw.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Maka rolls her eyes a little, but she can't deny the inexplicable fondness she feels for Black*Star and his brashness. "Yeah, probably."

She's on the sidewalk and shutting the door when he catches her eyes. "And hey. Good job, all right?"

It catches her off guard, surprising a small smile out of her. "Thanks." Black*Star waits long enough to make sure that she's in the front door before driving off, and she'd turn around and walk back to her place if she didn't have a sneaking suspicion that Black*Star had a) already told Soul to expect her and b) wasn't on his way back to defile her apartment with her roommate.

* * *

"Miss Blair?"

She stops at her name and turns slowly, forcing a relaxed smile. "Yes, Free?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course it is, sugar!" She rests a smooth hand on his forearm reassuringly. "I've just got to take care of some-paperwork. You'll get everything locked up tight, right?"

It's strangely comforting to see the concern in her employee's eyes. "Of course, Miss Blair. I'll get it done right now. Don't you work too hard."

"Thank you, sweetie; I won't." She waits long enough for his footsteps to trail off before heading down the marble hallway. She doesn't spend much time in Medusa's inner sanctum, and she prefers to keep it that way. There's not much that she can do to avoid this particular encounter, however.

She's greeted by Medusa's oily smile and an insincere, "Blair! How good to see you. What can I do for you?"

Blair tosses her hair back and keeps her head up. "You wanted me to let you know if Black*Star came back into Chupa Cabra's. I spotted him tonight."

Medusa leans forward in her chair, and Blair doesn't like the spark of interest in her eyes. "Did you now? What was he doing?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "The same as ever-he came in, had a drink, and watched the entertainment."

"Did he watch anyone in particular?"

"The usual-Bambi and Roxy-he seemed to enjoy the new girl, too."

"New girl?"

She shifts a little under Medusa's scrutiny. "Kitten-she's taking the place of Cherry."

"And what happened to Cherry?"

Blair doesn't believe for one moment that Medusa doesn't know exactly what happened to Cherry. After all, it was  _her_  lap dog who took Cherry out of commission. "I'm not sure; perhaps you should ask Giriko." It comes out more snide than she'd intended, but Cherry had been a good dancer, and a good kid. No one deserved to be hospitalized because of her job and one man's inability to not be an abusive asshole.

"What a shame. I'll make sure to talk to him about that. Although, since he's been incarcerated for that little incident, I suppose his punishment's been meted out."

Her lips twitch in displeasure because it  _isn't_  enough, but there's nothing she can do about it. "Of course," Blair says instead.

"Did you notice anything else?"

Free had mentioned seeing Kitten leaving with Black*Star-had noted it because Eater hadn't been in for about a week or so, and he'd thought it entertaining. Blair hesitates for a split second. "No. Nothing else. He came in, enjoyed himself, paid his bill and left." Medusa frowns, and Blair's heart speeds up just a little. "Oh, there  _was_  one more thing."

"Yes?"

"He wasn't nearly as loud as he usually is." Medusa's lips curl slightly, and Blair focuses on her breathing.

"What a relief." The blond taps her fingers against her desktop a few times-the surface unnaturally tidy. "Well then, thank you for that information, Blair. You've been very helpful."

"You're welcome." She turns to go and is stopped by Medusa's voice.

"You will let me know if you notice anything else." It's not a question.

"You know I will."

"Oh, and Blair?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure that everything runs smoothly this week. I'm going to be unavailable."

"Of course."

Blair doesn't fully relax until she's out of the club. It's very late-or very early, and she just wants to get home, and not think about why she didn't mention to Medusa the fact that Kitten has been leaving with Arachnophobia Enemy Number One Black*Star. She tells herself that it's because she  _just_ got a new dancer and doesn't want to have to find another one. It's only sound business practice. Even still, she can't help but be a little relieved that Medusa is going to be on one of her periodic little "vacations." It's the only time she feels like she has some actual breathing room.

She startles a little as a shadow near the door moves, and says "Miss Blair?"

"Free? What on earth are you still doing here?"

He shrugs a little, massive shoulders hunching. "Figured you might want an escort home. It's late."

She tilts her head to the side, regarding him, then holds out her arm. "If you insist, sugar."

* * *

He's in his kitchenette, making toast, when he hears the tumblers on his door click. Soul can't help turning to look, even though he knows who it is. He's only given one person a key since he's been here. He's going to play it cool, though-maybe slip in an apology-maybe-

Maka shuts the door behind her quietly, and his words die in his throat. She has  _glitter_  on her face.

"I, ah-hi," she says, breaking the awkward silence.

"Hey yourself." He was wrong. It's still really awkward. The timer on his toaster oven dings and he gives her a crooked little smile. "Toast?"

He can watch the tension leave her body at once, and she nods. "Sure." She moves into his living room with practiced ease, and Soul has to remind himself that she's only been avoiding him for a day and some change. It feels like a lot longer. Maka only hesitates for a moment before she's right back into his space, literally and figuratively. Something in his chest relaxes as she checks his arm gently with her elbow. "Butter?" He slides it over and hands her the butter knife.

It looks like she's just going to ignore the whole incident, and Soul can't quite decide if he's relieved or irritated. On the one hand, he doesn't want her to leave again-pissed and hurt. On the other, they probably ought to act like adults and talk about what happened. He wavers as they eat together, sneaking little glances at his partner. She seems completely unaffected, except how, every so often he catches her looking back.

"What are you doing out of bed, anyway? Do you not know what bed rest is?" she asks, brushing a few errant crumbs off her shirt. She meant it as a rhetorical question, light and teasing, but as soon as the words are out, she can hear how accusing they sound. Maka tenses, waiting for the scathing reply she deserves.

Soul gives her a blank look. "It's toast, not a triathlon, woman."

It's not what she's expecting, and she can't the small grin that sneaks onto her face. "Yeah, yeah. You sure about that? You look like you're getting pretty out of breath there, Agent Tubs."

And just like the that, the last of the tension slips away. She can do this. She can do buddies.

"Why you gotta be like that?" Soul asks, giving her a wounded look. Maka laughs.

"This is what happens when you go against doctor's orders."

"I'm doing a lot better. I'm a pretty quick healer, you know."

She gives him a skeptical look and a noncommittal noise. It's habit by this point to go over her day with Soul, but the last thing that she wants to do is bring up the pole dancing debacle, especially when they've just gotten past the awkwardness, and for a moment she struggles to keep up the conversation.

"We should probably have someone check up on that," she finally says. "I could get Stein to make a house call-"

"Isn't Stein the  _coroner_?"

"He's a fully certified doctor," she offers.

"Who is also a  _coroner_ ," Soul sputters.

"He's not that bad," Maka insists, conveniently forgetting that Dr. Frank Stein really  _is_  that bad and that you couldn't pay her to use him as a physician. Soul doesn't need to know that though, and she  _does_  want him to get looked at by a doctor. "I want you back out there with me," she blurts. She flushes.

Soul's hand is warm on her wrist. "I want to be back out there, too," he replies, and she doesn't think that she's imagining the intensity in his voice.

* * *

Maka wakes up relatively early, overly warm and one foot dangling off the edge of the futon. She rolls her neck carefully and stretches, flinching when her fingers brush against something warm and living. Her eyes flicker open to see Soul, half slumped over her. He's drooling a little, mouth open, and Maka's head is pillowed carefully on his thigh. The TV is still on, volume turned low.

He  _would_  let her fall asleep on him. She wants to be irritated with him, but it's kind of weirdly sweet in its own way, and mostly she's just glad that things aren't too awkward between them. It will be hard to get over her not-crush, but Maka  _likes_  that they can be close like this-wouldn't change it for the world. She just wishes Soul'd gotten up before falling asleep. She just knows he's going to whine about having a crick in his neck all day.

Carefully, she extracts herself and makes her way into the kitchen to start some coffee. Now that her first night of dancing is out of the way, she feels a little more calm, more focused. She can work on integrating that aspect of her job in with all the others. But first things first, she's gotta get Soul to Stein for a check up.

The idea makes her a little nervous. He says that he's doing all right, but she doesn't quite believe him. It hasn't been that long, and-Maka shudders. She doesn't want to think about Soul's wound more than she has to. If she had the option, she'd convince Stein to come out to the apartment for a house call, but there is no way that wouldn't look ridiculously suspicious. Besides, she's not even sure that Stein leaves his laboratory/office to go home, much less that he'd even consider leaving for a house call. Maka rubs the bridge of her nose and fixes herself a cup of coffee, wondering how long it will be before Soul slumps over on the vacated futon and startles himself awake.

 


	17. You've got the world, but baby at what price

Chapter 17: You've got the world but baby at what price

* * *

Tsubaki lends Maka the keys to her Honda with barely concealed reluctance.

"I need this back by tonight, don't forget."

Maka rolls her eyes a little. "I'm not going to forget, worry-wart. I know when you need to be at work, I promise."

"Don't explode it."

"Tsubaki! That was _one time_ and it wasn't my fault!" she hisses, darting a glance at Soul. "And you promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

"Tell that to the ice cream truck."

Maka scowls at her best friend and dangles the keys just out of her reach. "See if I give these back now!"

"Whatever, loser. Don't forget I know where you sleep."

"Yeah, yeah. You ready, Soul?" He slips into the passenger seat while Tsubaki mouths "Later," at him and Maka glares some more. "Don't think I didn't see that! You are not telling him that story. I told you that in _confidence_."

"Mmhm. Have fun, don't wreck my car."

"I _won't_. Good _bye_." She starts the engine and risks a glance at her partner. " _What_?"

"Nothing," he says. His lips twist a little as he tries to bite back a laugh. Maka narrows her eyes and he snickers.

"UGH." She rolls her eyes and hits the gas, and Soul shuts up. The silence is mostly comfortable as they drive, if she doesn't take into account that Soul has one hand perpetually wrapped around the oh-shit handle and is looking a little paler than normal. If she maybe slings the hatchback into a parallel parking space a little faster than normal when they get to the coroner's office, well, Maka's always enjoyed parking.

Soul's a little shaky when he climbs out of the car, and she feels a little guilty about it, but probably not as much as she should. At the least, it means she's not trying to field questions about the Ice Cream Truck Incident. She can't help but keep a watchful eye on him as they approach the old brick building. If he's shaken up by her driving, he at least shrugs it off quickly. The remaining stiffness in his gait she attributes to the fact that he's been cooped up in his apartment for the last week.

The building that houses Stein's office looks like a hundred other inconspicuous government buildings-offices that have been moved into re-purposed areas-shifted due to space and budget concerns and people that no one else wanted to deal with on a daily basis. Stein pretty much fits all of those criteria, if what Soul's been led to believe holds any truth.

Soul tugs down the knit cap Maka had insisted he use to cover his hair, and shoves his hands in his jean pockets as she leads them deeper into the bowels of the building.

* * *

It's quiet inside, which Soul finds to be both creepy as hell and pretty fucking indicative of how his life's going at the moment. As far as he can tell, there's barely anyone in the building and it doesn't get more populated the further down they go.

"So, there is someone down here, right?" he asks, trailing behind Maka and eyeballing the dingy white-washed walls.

"Yes," she says, and Soul can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"You're sure? You're not just leading me down here to dump my body?" She shoots him a look over her shoulder, and he grins at her. "You are, aren't you? You just don't want to have to tell me about the ice cream truck incident-I see how it is."

"I just might if you keep being obnoxious."

Soul smiled, "Hey now, I can't help how I'm made."

"I"m going to tell Stein he can keep you if you keep this up."

"Baby don't be that way," he jogs a half step to catch up with her and almost misses the way her spine tenses.

"I really ought to let Stein keep you," she says, but it sounds different this time. Before he can say anything to that, she's opening the lab door. She pauses, giving him a little smile. "Be good, and I might let you ride back in the car with me."

He swallows. "In the front seat, even?"

"Don't push it, Agent Tubs."

Soul doesn't know what he's expecting from Stein. He had heard a few rumors around the Vegas field office-he was the kind of coroner that you got lucky to have assisting on your case. There wasn't anyone in at least the four corners area that was half as thorough or experienced as Dr. Frank Stein. Unfortunately, there also wasn't anyone else that was as much of a pain in the ass to work with. Soul was beginning to revise that opinion given his recent experiences with one Officer Albarn, but the point remained. Too often he was just deemed too much for whichever sucker had to work with him, and most of the time, the FBI just didn't want to bother.

"Hey Frank," he hears Maka call out. Soul closes the door behind him softly.

"Maka. Is this our little patient, then?"

Soul blinks because his field of vision is suddenly full of lab coat and glasses and his nose is assaulted by something that smells like formaldehyde and….myrrh? What the fuck?

Stein isn't that much taller than him, but he _looms_ with a practiced sort of ease, and Soul steps back automatically. "Wha-"

"Frank, this is my partner Soul. Soul, Dr. Frank Stein." Soul doesn't look at Maka; it seems like a poor idea to take his eyes off the good doctor lest he end up missing a kidney suddenly, but he can hear the amusement in her voice.

"Ah, hi," he stutters, and Stein continues his overly interested perusal. "Maka-"

She rescues him with a firm grip on the back of Stein's labcoat. "Alright, Frank, you can dial down the 'creepy doctor' routine. We just want to get Soul checked out; make sure that everything is healing properly."

Stein adjusts his glasses, and gestures behind him with a little grin. "Of course. How rude of me, Soul. Please, have a seat and we'll get started." Soul eyeballs the autopsy table and wonders if it's too late to just leave when Maka gives him a look; he perches gingerly on the edge of the table. Stein's smile widens as he snaps on a pair of gloves. "Excellent, thank you." Soul suspects that Stein's "creepy doctor routine" is less a front and more a lifestyle.

She watches as he unbuttons the flannel he's taken to wearing-it's a lot easier than pulling t-shirts on and off, and Stein makes an interesting noise in the back of his throat. Soul catches her eye for half a second, and she looks away, turning her concentration to the wall tiles. Her face feels red and that is too stupid for her to deal with at the moment.

"Hm," Stein mumbles.

"What does _that_ mean?" Soul snaps.

"Nothing, just 'hm'."

" _Ouch_."

"Don't flinch, it'll just hurt more."

"You're actually crazy, aren't you?"

"Certainly not," Stein says mildly. "And that's very rude. Maka, I had no idea you were hanging around such a rude boy."

That's enough to get her to turn around again, and she knows beyond a doubt that her face is red now. "I am not 'hanging around' him, Frank. He's my _partner_. For _work_."

"Hm. You know these FBI types, though-" and oh, Maka sees where this is going.

"I _do_ , and it's _work_ , Stein. Don't head down this road," she hisses.

"I was just commenting."

"I know exactly what you were 'just.' I _will_ call Marie," she threatens, and Stein sighs dramatically and finishes prodding at Soul's chest wound.

"Hmpf. Well, it looks like you're healing well enough," he says to Soul, and Maka takes that as a sign that she's won that particular battle. "Raise your arms for me. Sides first." Soul does, and winces a little as the skin pulls. "All the way up." It pulls a little more, and he hisses through his teeth. "Alright, you're done," he turns and mutters under his breath, popping out of the autopsy room for a moment.

Soul glances over at Maka and she purses her lips. He doesn't ask what he wants to, just says, "Is he always like this?"

She shrugs. "More or less. He's a good doctor, though."

"Of _dead people_ ," Soul mutters.

"That isn't how that works."

"I'm sitting on a dead person table, Maka."

"Think of it as free healthcare. He's got the same degree as your general practitioner." Soul skates his glance away and Maka narrows her eyes. "You _do_ have a general practitioner, don't you?"

"I really don't like doctors."

She stares at him long enough that he fidgets uncomfortably on the cold metal table. His balls are going to go numb if he has to sit here much longer. "So you'll go to a veterinarian for health care willingly, but you're going to bitch about a coroner looking at your chest?"

"I know Nygus, though."

"Nygus is not a qualified physician," she counters.

"She sews up pets."

"Stein sews up people all the time!"

"Yeah, dead people!"

Maka actually throws her hands up at that. "You are impossible, you know that?"

"You didn't have a problem with me going to Nygus before!"

"That's because I didn't have a choice and I thought you were going to _die_!" she shouts.

The door slams open cheerfully, and Stein walks in, carrying a small glass jar and some paperwork. "You know, I thought I still had some of this, but it was the damnedest thing-couldn't find it _anywhere_." He pauses and looks between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

She carefully relaxes her fists. "No," she replies. "What did you find?"

"A _salve_ ," he says, handing it to her and looking completely unconvinced. "Everything looks like it's healing just fine, Soul. Maka said that you were getting good antibiotics-I don't need to know from where. A lot of your discomfort is coming from the skin healing and pulling too tight. Apply this twice a day, and carefully stretch the area, and you should be fine. You could probably even go back to work."

Soul looks on skeptically. "And you just happened to have that lying around?"

"Oh, I have all kinds of things just lying around," he says with an enigmatic smile. Maka rolls her eyes.

"Heads up," she calls, and Soul catches the jar. "May as well slap some on now."

Soul unscrews the lid, "Yeah that way when I croak, we don't have far to go for the autopsy."

" _Soul_."

"What?"

"Oh, he's clever for FBI," Stein smiles. "That's a nice change." Soul opens his mouth, but Maka turns her glare on him, and he shuts it again, scowling.

"Are you both done?" she snaps.

Soul rolls a shoulder noncommittally and concentrates _really hard_ on rubbing the pungent salve into his skin. Stein adjusts his glasses.

"Actually, no. While I was in my office, digging around for questionably legal medical salve, I pulled the last file I received from Ox for you." Soul stops rubbing at his chest and glances between the jar and Stein, horrified. Maka stares, intent on Stein.

"Did he finally get the results back?" she asks, trying to tamp down her excitement.

"He said yesterday that he was almost done with the blood work. There's something particularly strange about Chrona's blood-he's had to try multiple tests, but he hasn't quite isolated what it is. He has, however, managed to identify our John Doe."

Maka's heart clenches a little, and Soul stops buttoning his shirt to meet her eyes. "W-who was it?"

Stein flips open the folder he'd been carrying and reads, "One Hiro Yuy, aged 21, height 5'9". He's been in the system since he was about 15 for the usual-petty theft, squatting, drugs."

Soul sighs and slips off the table. "Just another lost youth, then?" Maka glances at him sharply, but she knows that expression on his face; she's seen on too many of her coworkers over the years. Stein closes the file with a slap on the table and slides it towards Maka.

"Same shit, different day. Hiro just gets a little closure because he got lucky enough to take the hit for a cop. I need a smoke." Maka takes the file and resists the urge to join him. "Come on, I'll walk you both out. Government won't let me light up in here anymore, can you believe it?"

"Rude," Soul replies, voice droll. Maka's lips quirk slightly and she tries to ignore the weight of the folder in her hand.

"Very rude," Stein agrees, leading them back through his office. "But they gave me this little bench on the side of the building in recompense." Stein snatches a half-opened box of cigarettes off of the top of a stack of folders. He doesn't seem to notice when the stack starts to topple, and skids into the stack next to it. Soul winces, Maka doesn't even seem to notice it. "I suppose," Stein continues, "that that's the least they can do. Stick me in the basement, say I can't even smoke down here-" he opens his office door.

"Oh please." There's a petite brunette on the other side of the door, scowling slightly. "You love being in the basement-you're not fooling anyone for a second."

"Ah, Jacqueline, so good of you to grace my little dungeon." Stein smiles, somewhere between genuine pleasure and annoyed.

"Bullshit. What have I told you about transferring your phone to my line? I am not your fucking secretary."

"I was away from my desk," he's still smiling.

"That's why you have voice mail."

"Do I? I can never remember."

The woman makes an inarticulate sound of rage, and Maka's familiar with that particular brand of Frank Stein irritation. She shoves her elbow into Stein's ribs. He doesn't even flinch, the bastard, but he does introduce them.

"Jacqueline, have you met my colleague Maka Albarn before? I can't recall."

"You can't recall a lot of things, you senile old goat," it's only half snarled, and Maka figures that's an improvement-probably as good as they're going to get. Jacqueline turns to Maka and smiles. It's a little bland, but friendly enough, and she holds out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Albarn. I'm sorry that it's under these circumstances-"

Maka takes her hand and shakes it. "It's fine. I understand how much a trial Frank can be."

Jacqueline narrows her eyes again. "Yes, he is, isn't he." Stein's smile is gleefully plastic.

"And this is my-" Maka stutters for a second because Stein didn't introduce her as a cop, and- _fuck_ "-Soul." She is never going to hear the end of this.

Jacqueline blinks, "Ooohkay. Look, Stein, this is the last time that I'm going to take a goddamn message for you. I have my own work to do, and it doesn't involve answering your fucking calls." She turns back to Maka. "It was a pleasure," then does an about-face and starts to stalk back up the hallway.

"Well, what was my message?" Stein calls after her.

"Call Ox Ford back, you jackass!" And with that, she's gone, and Stein's smoke break is forgotten.

"I swear to god, you just like doing that for fun, don't you?" Maka asks as Steins shuts his office door.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Maka." Stein plants himself at his desk and plunks an ancient cordless into the one square foot of clear space on his desk.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you troll." Stein gives her a faint smile. Surrounded by stacks of files and books, he looks for the right phone number, and Maka tries to push back the nervous anticipation in her chest.

"I have a call to make. You can wait in here if you like, or outside. Your choice." She and Soul shoot him identical looks of disbelief, and Stein just shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Maka shifts a little as he dials. She doesn't want to get her hopes up-Ox could have results, or it could be another round of "It's something, but we can't figure out what," or _hell_ maybe he just wants to have lunch with Frank. There's no way to know. It may be that, even after all of this, there's not actually anything that they're going to be able to use against Medusa and Maka doesn't know if she can deal with that reality.

There's a warm pressure just along the base of her spine, calming her, steadying her, and she relaxes into Soul's hand before she can stop herself. He's not looking at her-his eyes are still focused on Stein, and somehow that makes it all a little more bearable.

Seconds seem like hours before Stein's flat greeting rings out. "Ox? Stein. Mm, yeah. No, Jacquie's like that all the time. You had something for me?" He straightens in his chair a little. "No, that's…yeah. That's good. Can you bring it over? The fax machine here is dicey, you know how I feel about that thing." He spins a little in his chair. "Yeah, as soon as you can would be great. Mk, later."

He hangs up with a firm button press and spins back towards them, grinning widely.

* * *

Stein does manage to snag his cigarette break while they wait for Ox to make his way over with whatever results he has. Despite her wheedling, Stein is remarkably tight-lipped about whatever he'd been told over the phone, and Maka is strongly considering punching him just to get him to stop smirking whenever he looks at her and Soul.

She's _trying_ to use their waiting time for something productive, holing up on a couple of fold out chairs in Stein's office and pouring over Hiro's medical and criminal records for anything that might give them some kind of clue as to why he was killed instead of Chrona. She definitely doesn't appreciate whatever Stein's knowing looks are trying to insinuate.

"This doesn't make any sense," Soul says, reading over her shoulder.

"Sometimes people are just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Stein offers, gnawing on the end of a ratty Bic.

"Sometimes, but it just doesn't feel right," Maka argues and _god_ that sounds stupid. They need more than a feeling, more than just some vague hunch. Soul pats her shoulder. "Medusa doesn't do anything without a reason," she continues. "It's gotta be in here somewhere."

"We'll find it," Soul murmurs, too low for anyone but her to hear. It's more reassuring than it should be.

There's a knock on Stein's door, and Soul's hand tenses on her shoulder. Stein's voice is deceptively steady as he calls out, "Come in."

Ox Ford, as Soul finds out, isn't much taller than Maka, and he seems intent on making up for it by being a particularly obnoxious kind of brusque. He closes the door behind him sharply and fixes Stein with a disapproving stare.

"You didn't mention I was going to have an audience."

"Should it matter? You've got the results, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Excellent. These are the people that requested them," Stein gestures vaguely at them. Ox looks them over for a split second.

"Maka."

"Ox."

"Do you have some place where I can spread out my findings?" he asks, turning to Stein. Soul scowls a little; Maka shrugs. She's long since become accustomed to Ox's way with people. What she cares about is results, and if anyone could get them, it's him.

"Oh, I've got a table all set up," Stein smiles, opening the door back into the morgue. The look of disgust on Ox's face is priceless. "Don't worry, it's all very clean, I assure you."

"Hmph," is the only reply they get as Ox squares his jaw and starts spreading out his papers. "I didn't anticipate this analysis taking this long," he starts. "I was hoping to have it done previously since it was supposed to be a rush job, but it was quite the puzzler."

Maka can't quite tell from his tone if that's supposed to be a complaint or a compliment. "But you _did_ figure it out?" she asks, and he shoots her a withering look.

"Of _course_ I did. The analysis of the sample that you had Stein give me wasn't terribly difficult to identify on its own." He taps the topmost report. "It mostly matches the samples we have of something called 'Black Blood.' It's a relatively new drug on the market-we haven't had a whole lot of opportunity to dissect it and categorize its effects yet, so in a way, you've done us a real solid. We've never managed to get a sample of Black Blood in its purest form before, thus the delay." Ox pulls out another paper and lines it up next to the first. "Of course it would also help if we had some _funding_ , but I suppose that can't be helped."

"You've done remarkable work anyway," Soul supplies, dry as a desert.

"I have," Ox acknowledges, and as much as Maka wants to roll her eyes, she refrains because it really isn't hubris. "This is the blood sample that we took when Chrona was admitted to the hospital. As I hope you can see, the two samples are remarkably similar once you isolate the drug from the blood. However, they're merely similar, not the same."

"So it isn't the Black Blood?" Maka squinted a little at the reports.

" _Tch_. I didn't say that at all. Chrona's sample is too similar to _not_ be the Black Blood, but it's clearly been altered from its basal state. Which," he says, flourishing another report, "is where this all gets very interesting."

Maka bites her lip, and beside her, Soul makes a noise. "I can't tell any difference," he finally says.

"Of course you can't. That's because when we went back and tested your John Doe-"

"Hiro," Maka interrupts.

"Ah, yes. Of course." For a split second, Ox looks regretful, but then he adjusts his glasses, and continues. "When we tested samples of _Hiro's_ blood, it had far more in common with Chrona's than the original Black Blood sample."

"That's great, but what does it _mean_?" She crosses her arms.

"Well, we can't be completely positive-we're looking at here are _two_ examples of Black Blood that have been altered for some reason, but _not_ altered in the same way. Hiro's Black Blood cocktail appears to have been administered prior to Chrona's. It's definitely Black Blood, but the formula is a little further removed from the base sample we have." Ox taps the report viciously. "Black Blood is supposed to work kind of like Ecstasy. It's a hallucinogen; people who take it are much more susceptible to suggestion, risk-taking behaviors-it's not great, though it could be worse...for certain definitions of worse." Soul and Maka exchange looks, but Ox forges ahead. "Where we really get into the deep shit is with these variants. Whatever Hiro took was effectively an X-LSD-meth cocktail."

"Jesus." It's breathed into the quiet, and Maka isn't sure if the culprit was Frank or Soul. She's too focuses on the reports, on all the things that Ox hasn't said.

She exhales slowly. "And Chrona?"

Ox's pause is a little too long. "Technically speaking, the mixture in Chrona's system wasn't as bad." He clears his throat. " _Technically._ Less of an LSD component. The catch is that there is no telling how long Chrona had been on the drug before-"

He doesn't say it, but she hears it anyway- _before you sliced Chrona open_. "How bad?"

"There's no way to know the long term effects. Black Blood is still relatively new; all we have right now are short term effects, and we haven't seen anyone else with _this_ particular variant. There's no telling what kind of permanent damage there might be."

Ox might not be willing to take a guess, but Maka has a few just judging by what Kid's told her about Chrona's state of mind. There's no telling how long a full detox might take, or even if Chrona will ever come close to being the same.

"Well, what _can_ you tell?" It comes out much more sharply than she'd intended, but she can't bring herself to feel sorry about it, even with Ox's reproving look.

"We can tell that Chrona will probably end up being the first case study on the long term effects of Black Blood," he snaps, and Maka feels Soul shift next to her. "Past that, Chrona is lucky to be alive at all, your little impromptu vivisection aside. There was enough of the altered Black Blood in Hiro's system that that very well could have been cause of death-it's a close call. And Chrona's levels weren't much better."

She breathes shallowly, can feel Soul's palm against her wrist, touching but not restraining, and Maka focuses on that sensation. It isn't Ox's fault. It isn't anyone here's fault, and she has to remember that, has to hold on to that knowledge. She already knows who is to blame for this, and pissing off their unfortunately brilliant forensics specialist isn't going to make anything easier.

"I'm sorry," she finally says, and it's forced, and everyone can tell that it's forced, but it's the best that she can manage right now. "We really do appreciate all your work, Ox. I don't think anyone else could have gotten us these kind of results so quickly."

They stare at each other for a long moment, Ox's eyes narrowed as he assesses her sincerity. Finally, he nods. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could assist. Will you be needing anything else?" It's a perfunctory question more than anything, but-

They leave Stein's office with both Ox's findings and Stein's report on their former John Doe, and a tentatively clean bill of health for Soul. There might have also been a few exaggerated eyebrow waggles from Frank Stein, which Maka stalwartly ignored and that she prayed Soul didn't notice.

What Maka wants is to take their haul back to Soul's apartment and take her time adding to their case file, but she's got a time limit on the car, and they really need to get the reports filed with Kid as evidence as soon as possible. So instead, she rummages through Tsubaki's glove box and pulls out a battered old composition book that she knows has been in there since before they graduated college, and digs a pen out of the armrest. She glances up at Soul through her eyelashes.

"You wanna write, or you wanna read?"

He gives her a little smile. "You've already got a system. Besides, I'm sure you write faster than I do, anyway."

He's right; it doesn't take her very long to jot down the relevant information. Soul skims for the facts, and her hand flies over the paper-it's not that they can't access the information later if they want, it's just that she feels immeasurably better for having it all in one place-she's gathered so much- _they've_ gathered so much information, and Maka has the feeling that there's a bigger picture forming if they can just see it.

* * *

They pull up in front of DC Memorial less than an hour later. Maka had wanted to wait when Kid told her where to meet him, but they were still on a schedule. She's managed to turn off the car and get the keys out of the ignition, but that's as far as she's gotten.

"Maka." She doesn't want to look at her partner. She doesn't want the pity that she knows she'll see on his face, doesn't want the platitudes that he'll spill. "Maka we have work to do." It isn't what she expects, and it's exactly what she needs to hear.

"Right." She slides out of the car, Soul not far behind her.

The inside of DC Memorial is pretty much exactly like she remembers it. It's clean in that particular way that hospitals have about them, but Ox's complaint about a lack of funding definitely extends beyond the police department and its auxiliary units. Maka's still pretty sure that she recognizes the computers at the nurses' stations from the last time she was in here.

She doesn't like hospitals much.

Kid had given her the room number, and it's the work of a moment to pull out her id from her back pocket and flash it to the nurse once they get to the right floor. She recognizes Harvar lingering in the hallway and gives him a nod.

"Is Kid in there?"

She doesn't miss the way Harvar's gaze lingers on Soul next to her, but she's not entirely sure what to make of it. He must come to some sort of conclusion because he nods slowly. "Yeah, he's been in there since this morning." He doesn't offer anything past that, and Maka doesn't ask, just carefully opens the door.

It isn't as though a warning would have really prepared her anyway, she thinks, because there's Chrona, sweating and pale, eyes shut and-she bites her lip, hard, and then Kid's standing and tugging the privacy curtain closed. Maka breathes deeply, and tries to focus.

"Maka, Soul. You have something we can use?" His tie is a little crooked-not much, but just enough that it draws her eye, and she wonders for a brief moment if she should mention something before deciding against it. She nods instead.

"We've got our John Doe identified, and our mystery substance."

Kid flips through the files quickly, but his eyes are sharp. "You think this is going to be enough?"

"We think it's going to be crucial to the case," Soul says.

"Crucial, but not enough?"

"Not enough on its own. But we're close. I _know_ we're close," Maka insists. Kid huffs out a breath, and she thinks she can see new streaks of white in his hair.

"Close isn't going to be enough," he says finally. "We have to move quickly-my sources informed me this morning that Medusa's left town for an undisclosed business trip, and we've had some rumblings from Soul's AD that Arachne herself is making some kind of move. If we can snatch Medusa as soon as she gets back, I think we can get some leverage against Arachne."

"Medusa's out of town?" Her heart beats a little faster. "Any idea for how long?"

Soul narrows his eyes at her as Kid responds. "Not sure-her trips tend to last no less than four days, no more than seven, but there's no way to gauge which end of the spectrum this is going to be on."

"Hm." It's non-committal, but Soul knows that look on his partner's face, and it has yet to bode well for his peace of mind. "We'll get this wrapped up, Captain."

"I know you will, Albarn. Did you want-" he gestures behind him, and Soul can see the way her shoulders go rigid again.

"I-"

"I think you were wanted in the hall," Soul breaks in, giving Kid a significant look.

"Of course. I'll be outside," Kid says, mouth twisting in something that's not quite a smile. The door closes behind him with a soft _click_ , and Maka looks stricken. Soul thought he was doing the right thing, but watching his partner's face, feeling the weird anticipatory clench of his guts-now he's not so sure.

"I can go-"

"No," her response is immediate, sharp in the stillness of the hospital room. "No, you can...I'd like it if you'd stay, please."

"Okay." He hangs back just a little awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as she gently pulls back the privacy curtain. Chrona appears to still be sleeping, though it's anything but restful. Maka hesitantly smooths out twisted sheets, the material stiff against her hands as she watches her former charge.

"Do you mind if we just...wait?" she asks quietly.

"It's fine. I'm not going anywhere." Soul takes one of the visitor's chairs and sits and tries not to be completely obvious about the fact that he's staring. Chrona thrashes a little more, and he watches Maka cringe back, hand reaching out but still hesitating.

"Can you hear me, Chrona?" _He_ can barely hear her, but that's probably the point. "I'm so sorry. I didn't-I should- _fuck_. I'm sorry." There's a hitch in her voice and Soul clenches his fists in his lap. "If I could have done things differently you wouldn't be here." Her head is bent and he hates this-hates watching her tear herself up over something that she couldn't control, hates the way his heart feels like it's going to break out of his rib cage and he's not sure _why_.

On the hospital bed, Chrona stills and then explodes upwards with an unholy wail. Soul nearly falls out of his chair, and Maka rockets to her feet. Gibbering resolves into words, a broken litany of,

"Mother, no, no please, mother-" Soul feels sick to his stomach. Chest heaving, Chrona quiets and blinks and looks and-"Maka?"

"Hey Chrona, it's-are you ok?" The moment the words leave her mouth, she wants to take them back because that's just stupid.

"I killed you."

She swallows and it tastes like bile. "Did you?"

"Mother said to steal them, and you found them and no one should have found them and I killed you." And oh, _fuck_ she doesn't want to do this, but Chrona's talking and she has to try and make the most of it.

"What did you steal?"

"Bloody -" Chrona stops and looks past her, and Soul is caught in pale, eyes that are far too sharp for the crazy shit coming out of that mouth. "You were there, blue and bloody. Always showing up where you aren't wanted."

She's going to throw up, she can feel it, and she takes a leap. "Chrona what did Medusa make you steal?"

"Mother wanted the vials."

* * *

Maka drops Soul off at the precinct to retrieve his bike and drives back to her apartment on what feels like autopilot. She tosses Tsubaki's keys on the counter, and is out the door again before she can stop to think. Soul finds her in his apartment, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; she's not sure she could say how she got there if asked.

"We missed lunch," she says when he shuts the door behind him. "How's your bike?"

"She's good. I tried to get Kid to comp me a wash, but he wouldn't go for it; something about not being a good use of precinct resources." He joins her in the kitchen, leaning a hip against the narrow counter. He's dangerously in her space, but he doesn't let himself think about that, just about the tightness of her shoulders and the slight tremble in her fingers. She doesn't seem to care anyway, just hands him a sandwich and a paper towel.

They eat in silence by the sink, and when she's finished, she brushes her crumbs into the drain and he wonders if this is her bid at normalcy, at regaining the equilibrium they had this morning. She takes so much on herself, he thinks-and that's something that he learned about Maka pretty quickly, but this is the first time that he's looked at her and can see the weight of this case, of the enormity of their task, _physically_ weighing her down.

He lets out a small sigh, and herds Maka towards the couch. He knows that she lets him do it, and that's pretty telling in and of itself. She sits and he turns on the tv and settles across from her, perching on the edge of the coffee table.

"It's not your fault."

She meets his eyes, pupils blown in afternoon light, and for a long moment, he thinks that this is what's going to break her, and his breath catches in his chest. She blinks, exhales.

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N- I hope this has been even vaguely worth the wait. As I mentioned on Tumblr, I think I've got maybe two chapters to go after this, and I'm working on getting them plotted out so you guys won't have to wait a billion years again. Thank you so much for your patience and all of your kind messages and reviews here, on A03, and on Tumblr-it really means the world to me! You guys are the fucking best, hands down.


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